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Columbia Polytechnic Institute for the Blind, 

1808 H STREET, N. W. 


REV. H. N. COTJDEN. President. 

F. E CLEAVELAND. Secretary 

One Dollar Ql Year, - - Ten Cents a Copy. 


Contents tor ©ctot)ci% 1903. 

Trip Around the World ...._. 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and their equally- 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 

Four Out of Five— Who Serve the King (A Serial Story) 

Edward Franklin 

Poem, and Article on Mind - - - Harry T. Nisbet 

The Optimistic Frog 

For Love of Her (The Story of a Strange Revenge) - - Mikkok 

Appreciation - - - ... The Cynic 

Pinehurst (A Serial Story) - - - Mrs. M. M. Buckner 

A Successful Blind Man— Storekeeper and Manufacturer 

A Born Editor ..... The Scribbler 

A Considerate Thief ..... The Judge 

" All's Fair in Love " (A Short Story) - - - Mirror 

" What's the Use " (Poem) - - - Frisco Magazine 

Too Late - - .... The Benedict 

The Lowest Form of Literary Achievement 

A Charming Way (Poem) . . . . The Lover 

An All Rail Trip to Europe (Translation made for the Literary Digest) 

Two Rivers Boxing a Railroad 


Terry's Visit (A Story for Children) - - Katharine B. Foot 

A Word to Conjure With 

Not His Fault .... . . The Kidder 

A Happy Reply ...... The Editor 

A Parable With a Purpose 

The Model Boy 

Different Ways 

Public Opinion , 

We desire to call the attention of the readers of TALKS and TALES 
to articles which appear by the following occasional contributors, all of 
whom are blind : 

H. R. W. Miles, Mary E. Sanford, Charlotte M. Hinman, Alice A. 
Holmes, H. Stennett Rogers, Alfred S. Hosking, Alexander Cameron, 
Roberta Anna Griffith. Rev. Ghosn el Howie, Syria ; Helen Marr Camp- 
bell, Clarence Hawkes, Mamie Ray, Harry Forrester, J. Newton Breed, 
J. B. Kaiser, Nina Rhoades, Fanny A. Kimball, Edward Franklin, 
Harry T. Nisbet, Sherman C. Smith, Prof. E. P. Crovvell. 


All subcribers will hereafter send the price of subscriptions, vvhicli 
remainsSl.OOper j'ear, to Columbia Polytechnic Institute, ^Washington, D.C. 
Talks and Tales will hereafter be published bj' the Association which is 
endeavoring to extend and secure for the Blind through the countrj', those 
advantages now enjov'ed bj' the sightless, at the Institution in Hartford 
Conn., and we most earnestly appeal to them, to extend to us, the same 
friendly interest and patronage which they have so long vouchsafed that 
pioneer Institution, in work for the adult Blind. 

The3' will be glad to learn that by the last appropriation of the Conn. 
Legislature, the Hartford Institution has reached a safe harbor, after a 
long' and wearisome struggle, and that the blind people of Conn., are now 
provided with an opportunit}-, to become self sustaining, that is enjoyed 
b}' blind people nowhere else. 

Knowing- how much has been accomplished in that State, will not our 
readers feel that the}' are enlisted in a good cause, and will they not be 
glad to remember that they were our friends in the hour of our greatest 
need, and assisted us in our endeavor to place the feet of the blind through- 
out our couTitry in a sure path, where, with their hearts filled with the 
sunshine of a newl}' awakened hope, they will rejoice in the realization 
of a glad and useful life. 

Hopefully j-ours, 

F. E. Cleaveland, Secy. 

ITalke an6 tTalee. 

Vol. ■ VII. October, 1903 No. I 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and Their Equally 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 


Moscow lies 400 miles southeast of St. Petersburg. When 
the Czar was shown the map of the surveyors of the road from St. 
Petersburg to Moscow, he inquired why the proposed railroad 
was so crooked. It was explained to him that the crossing of 
streams and the skirting of hills, in a way to save great 
expense in bridging and excavating, made the curves and bends 
in the road-bed a necessity. Taking a ruler, the Czar drew a 
straight line across the map from St. Petersburg to Moscow, ex- 
claiming, "Build it there!" and the road was built in accordance 
with those directions. 

Our journey to Moscow was dreary and uninteresting. Once 
past the limits of the towns, every village was the same; a wide 
street or two, a church, and a couple hundred houses, usually in a 
dilapidated condition. 

An all- distinguishing characteristic of the country is the awful 
and uniform poverty of the land-tilling class. No cosy cottages, 
no chateau of the local land owner, no squire's hall — merely assem- 
bleges of men and women, just on the hither side of the starvation 
line. Vodka, which takes the place of the German lager and the 
Englishman's 'af and 'af, is the national drink, and intemperance 
the rule among the peasants, who have their bouts whenever th^ir 
small savings will admit of such indulgence. Black rye bread, 


cabbage, buckwheat, mushrooms and eggs are the principle articles 
of food. The peasants are fluent liars, of a harmless type, generally 
from amiable motives. They are religious in every fibre of their 
being, but their rehgion is wholly of the letter. They are con- 
vinced that their priest has the evil eye; they get drunk at Easter 
for joy, to think that Christ has risen, and at other times for no 
reason at all. 

On the whole, the Russian common people are not wholly 
unattractive, being simple, good-natured, kindly, ever ready to be 
pleased or to laugh. Their poverty does not prevent them from 
being happ3^ 

To the tourist who delights to live in the past, Moscow, the 
sacred, or Holy City of the Russians, modernized into a Lowell or 
Birmingham of to-day, will be a disappointment. The Kremhn 
is still there, and as some writers have put it, "Moscow is the 
Kremlin, and the Kremlin is Moscow." Enlarge the walls of the 
Tower of London and place within it Westminster Abbey, and you 
will get some idea of the interest and importance of the Kremlin, 
as compared with the rest of the city of Moscow. Within its walls 
may be seen 850 cannon, trophies of war, mainly the spoils of the 
French army, that army which was starved, frozen and buried in 
one vast graveyard, reaching from Moscow to the frontier, a sacri- 
fice to the folly and ambition of Nepoleon. 

Situated in the center of the town, the walls of the Kremlin 
are surmounted by 18 towers and pierced with five gates. Within 
the Kremlin are the principal buildings. Here may be found the 
small, but gorgeous edifice, the Cathedral of the Assumption of 
the Virgin, founded in 1326, the Cathedral of the Archangel Michael, 
where may be seen the tombs of all the Czars, down to Peter the 
Great, the Church of the Annunciation, with its floor paved with 
precious stones, and the tower, Ivan Veliki, with its height of 200 
feet, surmounted by a gilded dome. 

A Russian wit has said that Moscow is remarkable for two 
things — a cannon which has never been fired, and a bell which has 
never been tolled. And these are perhaps the two most striking 
single objects. On the way through the Kremlin we passed in the 
arsenal yard an enormous quantity of bronze cannon neatly dis- 
posed in groups. Towering above them is the "Czar Cannon," a 
huge and highly decorated piece of bright green bronze, weighing 
forty tons, with a bore of eighteen inches, cast in 1586. It is 
merelv decorative, for a hatful of powder would blow it to bits. A 


hundred yards farther on is a colossal bell on the ground, weighing 
200 tons. While it was being raised to the tower in 1737, it was 
broken, and the eleven-ton piece knocked out of it lies by its side. 

A few steps away is the never-to-be-forgotten Cathedral of the 
Assumption, in shape as its original was built six centuries ago, 
dazzling with gold, frescoed from floor to cupola, claiming upon 
its highest altar a piece of the Saviour's robe. The spot where a 
man crowns himself Czar of all the Russians, and in the eyes and 
in the profoundest of a hundred millions of his subjects, rises 
therebv to something of the Divinity he invokes. 

We ascended the tower of Ivan Veliki (who, by the way, was 
an Englishman known to his English acquaintances as John 
Velliers), from which a fine view of the city is obtainable. Here a 
glimpse may be had of a garden of a monastary, which once boasted 
16,000 servants, pretty red balconies running round a square of 
embowered walls. 

The Romanoff Place has been converted into a splendid square 
with an ornamental garden, and the old obelisk, the former monu- 
ment of the place stands in the center, with water fountains on 
each side. The general view of the city from the tower is emi- 
nently original, and picturesque. Its hundreds of churches and 
convents, surmounted by gilt and variously colored domes, its 
gardens and boulevards and the river on the northern bank of 
which the Kremlin is situated, produces a most striking effect. 

But this is the Moscow with which we are all familiar. We 
think of it as a place where Czars are made. It has been interest- 
ing to us as the birthplace and cradle of an autocratic government, 
the development of which has brought forth a great world power, 
builded on a foundation, in direct contrast with the great Western 
republic, and yet singular as it may seem, Russia and the United 
States have always been the best of friends. 

We are now, however, to learn something of a new Moscow, 
a Moscow which has already become a great centre of industry. 
The focus of a national industrial development already beginning 
to influence the markets of the world and of nations. We have 
glanced at Old Moscow, but New Moscow means cotton-spinning 
mills which have paid 70 or 80 per cent. It is an extraordinary, 
a startling juxtaposition, but the one thing is not less real than the 
other. In manufacture, as well as in religious traditions, Moscow 
is the heart of Russia. The old quarters, inside the walls, known 
as the "Chinese Town" — the only Chinese in it are a few tea mer- 


chants — is packed close with business offices and banks. The 
streets hum with the steps of hurrying buyers and sellers. At 
noon the Exchange is crowded with brokers and merchants, a 
remarkable proportion of them speaking German, with a sprinkling 
of Chinese, Persians, and strange faces and head gear from Turkes- 
tan. When you drive out to stand with Napoleon's ghost on the 
hills outside, a walled monastary, brilliant in color, quaint in archi- 
tecture, thrilling in story, lies midway between you and the city. 
By its side is a great factory, with hugh disfiguring chimneys. All 
around Moscow, at distances varying from two to six hours by 
train, are great spinning and weaving and cotton-printing mills. 
Spinning in Russia has advanced with astonishing strides. In 
1886 there were already over two million spindles in the Moscow 
district, and as many more in other places. 

From 1880 to 1889 the output of the cotton manufacturing 
industry rose from 240 to 487 millions of roubles, or about $364,- 
000,000. Since then the production has steadily risen, though 
not, of course, at this astonishing rate. The demand for cotton 
goods is practically unlimited, for the entire population wears it, 
while new markets in Central Asia and the Far East are opening 
rapidly. These Eastern markets are due to the sagacious character 
of Russian foreign policy, but the supply has, of course, grown up 
within the industrial paradise of an absolutely prohibitive tariff. 

Not long ago, in Moscow, there were English foremen in most 
mills. Now almost all of these are gone, and Russians take their 

Most of the raw material comes from America, and a con- 
siderable quantity from Egypt. But in Turkestan, Russia has 
come into possession of a cotton-growing country of great possi- 
bilities. A Moscow merchant told us 350,000 bales came from 
there last year, and this, it must be remembered, is favored by 
escaping the heavy duty which foreign cotton has to pay. 

An official publication contains this statement: "In the near 
future, probably the greater part of the Russian cotton industry 
will be supplied with native raw material." But as all the cotton of 
Turkestan is dependent upon irrigation, and capital is scarce there,, 
the Moscow spinners do not yet share this optimistic hope. 

Four out of five, who serve the King. 


All Rights Reserved. 

A scream of anguish and intense alarm, followed by three 
sharp, shrill whistles in quick succession, the clanging of the bell 
of a locomotive, the quick drawn breath of many passengers wait- 
ing to take the south bound train, the flying form of a man, and 
the excited Oh! Oh! Oh! from a score or more of bystanders, and a 
scene has been enacted, in which beautiful and bright little Marie 
Fairchild is snatched from the jaw^s of death. 

Miraculous indeed was the rescue, but the rescuer has not es- 
caped unharmed, for the witnesses of this daring action are now 
exclaiming for the third time. The rescuer lies upon the platform 

"xVll aboard! all aboard!" comes the warning cry from the con- 
ductor; clang! clang! sovmds the bell of the engine, and the south 
bound express pulls out of the station. 

I, Jeremiah Bruce, physician and surgeon, one of the by- 
standers, suddenly awakened from a dazed and bewildering dream, 
realize that my services are wanted as the cry^ "is there a doctor 
here?" comes from Mrs. Fairchild, who, after folding her darling 
in her arms for an instant to make sure that she is safe, is now 
bending over and lifting the head of the insensible young man. 

"Here!" I respond, and am instantly at her side. A hasty 
examination discloses an- ugly wound on the back of the young 
man's head. As the sun is blazing down on the platform, and the 
heat is stifling, I inquire if there is a hospital in the town and an 
ambulance to be had. The lady replies in the negative, but imme- 
diately gives orders to have the young man conveyed to her car- 

At a sign from her I followed. We are now whirling along 
through the hot and dusty streets of Gleefort, and a few minutes 


later begin the ascent to a rocky plateau, overlooking the ocean. 

Welcome indeed is the fresh ocean breeze that fans our faces, 
and now for the first time I scrutinize the features of mother and 
child. One is the exact image of the other, the only difference 
being that one is the face of a woman, the other the face of a child. 
Both are beautiful, and plainly, but richly attired. An anxious 
look is upon the face of the mother as she watches the face of the 
still insensible young man. Presently the carriage enters the 
broad avenue of stately elms, and a few minutes later stops at the 
grand old residence of John Fairchild. 

My patient is gently carried into a large airy room, and I am 
enjoined by Mrs. Fairchild to do all that is possible to be done. 
When the wound has been carefully dressed, and everything has 
been done to restore the young man to consciousness without avail 
I leave him in the care of the anxious lady to summons by telegraph 
an eminent surgeon from the metropolis. 

Archibald Crawford, after thirty years of successful practice 
at the Elmdale County bar and twenty years on the bench, is resid- 
ing comfortably at the old homestead, which has descended from 
father to son since Middlebrook was a colony. He has only made 
occasional visits to the home of his boyhood for more than forty 
years, but after the death of his wife and the relinquishment of his 
duties as a judge of the Supreme Court and the establishment of 
his son Edward as junior partner in the law firm of Crawford & 
Crawford, he had carried into effect a resolution which he had made 
years before, to return to his old place and make his homie with a 
widowed daughter, who with Edward, were the only survivors of a 
family of six children. It was a noble old mansion on the left 
bank of the Massasoit, near its mouth, at an elevation sufficient to 
catch the breeze which never failed to accompany the incoming 
tide. A grove of maples sheltered it from the wintry blasts of 
northerly and easterly gales, and a gradually sloping, well kept lawn, 
with a gravel walk in the centre, terminated at a boat house and 
dock at the riverside. A broad piazza with great round wooden 
columns supporting its roof, afforded a most delightful resting 
place for the old judge, who could be seen every afternoon seated 
in a great arm-chair smoking his favorite Meerschaum. 

He was thus seated, when a plainly but neatly dressed matronly 
looking lady, about forty years of age, appears in the doorway and 
informs him that a gentleman is in the library who wishes to talk 
with him. 


As Judge Crawford entered his library, I, Jeremiah Bruce, 
presented my card, and was cordially greeted by the old gentle- 
man, who, after bidding me to be seated, looked inquiringly into my 
face as though expecting to place me as one of the numerous men 
which he, during the many years he had spent in public life, had 
met. I, in turn, looked carefully into the face of a kind-hearted, 
benevolent man, and detected, as I beleived, an amount of reserve 
strength which encouraged me to go on with the errand that had 
brought me to his home. 

"Judge Crawford," I began, "Though this is the first time I 
have met you I feel confident that vou are a man who can yet man- 
fully face a great calamity." As I spoke these words the lady who 
had shown me into the library again entered the room. With 
alarm and wonder showing on her face she came forward, and the 
Judge, with a voice steady but full of feeling, said, "Permit me to 
introduce my daughter. Dr. Bruce, whatever concerns me concerns 
her, and you need not fear to speak out plainly to us both, for 
already I anticipate that the calamity you speak of concerns my 
son. His failure to write me as usual has already made us both 
quite anxious and the distress in your face shows me that he must 
be either very ill, or perhaps dead." 

"Surely not that!" exclaimed his daughter, "but do, sir, tell 
us at once." 

"Your son is not dead, Judge Crawford, but you are quite 
right in your supposition that my errand here relates to him. 
Even now he is waiting in a neighbor's house near by, to be sum- 
moned by me. No, he is not dead; but he is the bravest, the most 
considerate of men, and yet the most complete master of himself 
that I have ever chanced to meet, and I will confess that, much as 
I dreaded this interview, I believed that I should find the father 
of such a son ready to stand up under a blow which must come, 
whether I, or someone else should be the bearer of the news." 

"Hesitate no longer. Doctor. If my son is alive and at hand, 
be the misfortune that has befallen him what it may, he will find 
his old father ready to help him to bear it and a sister strong enough 
to withstand the worst." 

I then related to the Judge what I had witnessed at the station 
and declared that the unhesitating bravery displayed by him in 
saving the little daughter of John Fairchild from being crushed 
and mangled under the wheels of a locomotive had cost the young 
man his sight. "Yes, Judge, it is indeed a great debt that the 


father and mother of little Marie Fairchild owe to your son, one 
that it is impossible ever to pay. We expected to see the young 
man wither, or perhaps lose his reason, when we were compelled 
to tell him that in the strength of his young manhood, with 
all the prospects of a brilliant career before him, he had offered up 
his sight in the performance of a brave and manly act. But aside 
from turning a little paler, he showed no sign of weakness and his 
first thought and constant anxiety since, has been how he should 
break the news to you and his sister. It was finally decided that 
I should accompany him to his home, but with great good fortune 
and forethought he decided to remain at a neighbor's house while 
I should, in a measure, prepare you for the meeting. 

With a great compassion overspreading his face, but with a 
strong, firm voice and an elastic step, Judge Crawford started for 
the door, exclaiming, "Forgive me, Doctor, but I must go and 
fetch my boy! Come, Mary, we will go together, and Edward 
shall know from us both that we are proud of his brave action and 
the manly spirit he shows. Yes, daughter, this is a calamity, but 
there are others far worse," and with these words he hurried away 
accompanied by Mrs. Eggleston. 

I remained in the library awaiting their return, which was not 
long delayed, and when they re-entered the house, the Judge was 
talking in a cheery and light-hearted voice to his son of the happen- 
ings in his absence, although I knew that the bitterest pangs his 
heart had ever known were being endured. I could stand it no 
longer. Bidding them a hasty farewell, and receiving the grateful 
thanks of father and son, I walked quickly away. 

John Fairchild was a railroad magnate, with all that that term 
implies. He belonged to the school of humanitarians, who be- 
lieve in the survival of the fittest. To more than two thousand 
men, his word was law. The great railroad system, of which he was 
president, was only a monster machine. Each man unde^^ him 
was but a piece of mechanism belonging to that machine, and he 
the master machinist. He had the reputation of being a hard and 
exacting master. Beginning his career as water carrier and news- 
boy, on one of the small provincial railroads, he had climbed slowly 
but surely to his present position, by making himself a necessity 
in every station he filled. He was known to his employees as the 
"old man." They honored and feared him. E.very one knew him 
to be a man of his word. No piece of the great mechanism ever 
failed in the performance of duty but once. The penalty of failure 


was always dismissal, and who shall say that the trust imposed in 
his management, by the great traveling public, did not demand 
that he should be a man of iron. The stockholders could point 
with pride to the fact that accidents imperiling human life were 
rare indeed, and that the quarterly dividend of 2 1-2 per cent, came 
as regularly as the flowing and ebbing of the tide. 

In his family, however, he was a kind-hearted and considerate 
father, and little Marie was the idol of his heart. 

When he was informed that her life had been saved at so great 
a cost to the brilliant young lawyer, on whose shoulders had fallen 
the mantle of an honored and tried public servant, he did not under- 
value that loss, and when Edward Crawford felt the pressure of the 
hand, he did not need to be told, that so far as it would lie in the 
power of John Fairchild to make reparation, it would be done, but 
he was equally sure that he had only performed a part which was 
demanded of him, and the great railroad magnate was conscious 
that whatever he might have it in his heart to do for this young 
man, to in some measure discharge the great obligation he was under 
to him, there must be no thought of anything more than a sincere 
expression of his undying gratitude. Nevertheless, the man of 
iron resolved that it should be the study of his life to make repara- 
tion to Edward Crawford for the loss of his sight. 

When I returned, after safely conducting my charge to the 
home of his father, I found John Fairchild awaiting me in his 
librarv. Grasping me by the hand, he looked into m}^ face with 
an expression on his own, which denoted the feeling that stirred 
his heart to its very depths, and when I gave him a faithful account 
of the meeting of father and son, the tears that stood in his eyes 
showed to what extent a great nature could sympathize with 
the anguish of that father. 

His first words were, "I must meet Judge Crawford, and you. 
Dr. Bruce, must help me solve the greatest problem of my life. Let 
us work together and not stop until we have found a way to let the 
sunlight through the dark cloud that overwhelms this young friend 
of ours, for bravely as he bore up under the terrible blow, I could 
not fail to see despair plainly written in his face when he left us." 

For the next few moments neither of us spoke. Then spring- 
ing up as though a new thought had suddenly taken possession of 
him, he walked quickly to the telephone, and inquired of his secre- 
tary if Griggs was in the office. Evidently receiving a reply in 
the affirmative, he said, "Send him to me at once." Then taking 


my arm we walked into the dinning-room, he explaining to me on 
the way that Griggs was an alert, companionable young man, in 
the employ of the company, in whom he had for some time been 
interested. The dinner hour passed almost in silence. In fact 
there seemed to be a kind of funerial atmosphere about the place. 
Even the bright, sunny face of little Marie was rather more grave 
than usual. Looking up to her mama she said, "Mama, dear, I 
have been playing that I was blind, this morning, just to see how it 
would seem, and oh! mama, I think it is dreadful that poor Mr. 
Crawford is never, never, never going to see anv more." 

"Yes, my darhng," said Mrs. Fairchild, "it is very sad, but 
you and I will go to see him often, and it may be we shall be able 
to make him happy sometime." 

"That is a duty that rests with us all, my dear," said Mr. 
Fairchild. When we returned to the Hbrary Mr. Griggs was await- 
ing us. 

" Mr. Griggs," said John Fairchild, "you are aware of the great 
loss that has befallen the young man who rescued my daughter 
from what would have been certain death, at a cost to him of that 
which we all prize next to Hfe itself." 

"Yes, sir; you refer to the young lawyer, Mr. Crawford. I 
read a full account of it in the American.''' 

"Well, sir; Edward Crawford has placed me under a debt of 
gratitude that money can never repay, and any attempt on mv 
part to reward him for his noble and manly action, would, with 
commendable pride, be resented by both Judge Crawford and his 
son. Nevertheless, it is my purpose and intention to do all that 
lies in my power to discharge in some measure this obligation. Mv 
reason for summoning you, is to entrust you with a commission, to 
place yourself in a situation to give me the fullest information con- 
cerning him, in order that I, without his knowledge, may in some 
way lighten his burden and advance his prospects. I am confident 
he has too much spirit to wholly abandon hope, and I wish to be 
in a position to second any effort he may make, in any direction, 
to employ his talents. He lost his sight in my service, and if it is 
ossible for you to put yourself where you can make your eyes 
serve him, you will leave the company's employ and enter mine. 
I shall leave it to you to make your own plans for carrving out 
my wishes, and I assure you that any course you may think best 
to pursue, must be adopted by you without regard to any con- 
sideration of expense or outlay. You will make your plans to 


report to me as often as you think it necessary to keep me fullv 

" I am grateful to you, Mr. Fairchild, that you deem me worthy 
to undertake this commission," repHed Mr. Griggs, "and I need 
not say that I shall do my best." 

After Mr. Griggs had retired from the library. Judge Fairchild, 
turning to me said, " doctor, I am indebted to you, not only for 
your professional services, but for your friendship, and I again wish 
to express my desire that you will be with us, and one of us, in this 

Little Marie and her mama entering the librarv at this time, I 
bade them adieu, assuring Mr. Fairchild of my earnest symvathy 
and co-operation, so far as I could be of any service. 


Two weeks had passed since the meeting of father and son 
after the accident, but during that time hardly a word had been 
exchanged between them concerning it. The Judge had never 
once reverted in his co;iversation with his son to his loss of sight, 
having determined in his own mind that Edward should be the 
first to refer to it. Many times indeed, his sister, finding him seated 
alone in the old vine-covered summer-liouse, had quietly taken 
her seat by his side, and aside from the exchange of greeting of "Is 
that you ,Mar3^" an hour would pass without another word being 
spoken. The far-away look on the face of the young man im- 
pressed his sister that no words of hers would be of any avail. She 
knew her brother and had the fullest confidence that when the 
battle' had been fought out he would once more be master of the 
situation, and she was content to wait, giving him such support as 
she could by that sympathy which one heart is capable of extend- 
ing to another, though the silence be broken only bv the songs of 

It was during an hour like the one just described, that Mrs. 
Fairchild and little Marie came upon Edward and his sister. On 
a sign from the former, Mary joined her, and little Marie glided 
into the summer-house, and springing upon Edward's knee and 
putting both arms around his neck, exclaimed, "Mama and I have 
come to take you away with us for a sail on papa's yacht. Don't 
you say no! cause I want 3^ou to come. I am going to love you so 
much. Fannie Jacobs has a nice big brother, just like you, and 
mama said maybe you'd let me be your little sister, when I told 


her how much I loved you for pulHng me away from those horrible 
old steam cars that frightened me so. See my pretty ring, Mr. 
Edward? Papa gave it to me my last birthday. Oh! I forgot; 
you can't see it, can you?" and Edward heard the little voice quiver 
and felt tears upon her cheek as it was pressed against his, and her 
soft little arms tightened about his neck. 

"Dear little Marie," said he, "I shall love to have such a sweet, 
loving little girl for a sister, but your big brother wants you to stop 
crying, if you want him to go with you so much. Come, you show me 
to the yacht," saying which, Edward put her down to the ground 
and let her guide him along* the gravel path to the dock, where a 
beautiful little steam yacht was puffing and churning, with the 
impatience of a firey steed to be off. 

The Judge, Mrs. Fairchild and Mary were already on board, 
and all were overjoyed to see the smile of pleasure on Edward's 
face, as he and his little guide approached the dock. After an ex- 
change of greeting with Mrs. Fairchild, Edward was led to a seat on 
the forward deck, and the "Gypsy" in a short time was dancing 
over the waves of the Sound. 

The day following the yachting excursion, Edward took his 
usual walk in the garden, for he had already learned to go about, 
making use of a little switch cane to keep the line of the sharp cut 
turf, which separated the gravel walk from the vegetable beds. The 
hum of bees told him that he was approaching the bee-sheds which 
stood at the foot of the garden path, where about a dozen hives of 
these industrious little insects had been kept ever since he could 

And now he recalled how many times, stretched upon the 
wooden bench that still held its place under the old apple tree 
near-by, he had watched and wondered if the}^ would work so 
diligently if they knew they were storing away honey, the lion's 
share of^which was to be pilfered from their hives for the use of man. 

He recalled that in his college days he had read a sketch of 
the life of Francois Huber, a blind man who had become a celebrated 
naturalist by using the eyes of his wife and a faithful servant in 
making a study of the habits of bees and other insects, and adding 
to the world's knowledge by publishing his observations. 

Following up the thought, which this recollection brought to 
his mind, he began to question whether the loss of sight, after all, 
closed every avenue to a useful and profitable existence. 


If it was possible for Huber to make himself famous by what 
he saw through the eyes of others, which they did not see, was 
there not left to him some chance to do likewise ? Surely the eyes 
of the little kitten which he heard jumping about him, reflected 
the images of what it saw upon the brain as perfectly as did the 
eyes of a human being. 

The eyes, then, were only a medium of communication, the 
servants, as it were, of a king enthroned in the palace of the mind. 
Bar the grand avenue along which these servants approach the throne 
with their intelligence, and you but bring into more active service 
those servants not less faithful, whose avenues of approach to the 
palace, though hitherto but little used, do now in their turn vie 
with each other to be worthy to serve the king. 

The real work-shop after all was the brain, where the powers 
of the mind did the work. Could he then not make use of the eyes 
of others, as men use spectacles, and through his remaining senses 
receive intelligence that should furnish material to be hammered, 
moulded and formed, by the powers of the mind, until it should 
increase in value ten, yea, a hundred fold? 

If Huber could give the world such valuable information 
concerning the lives, habits and relations of insects, why did not 
his chosen profession, which dealt with the lives and social relations 
of men, women and children, offer even a much higher field of use- 
fulness? Had he not already stored away much knowledge that 
was intended to fit him to serve his fellow man in solving problems 
of human rights and wrongs? Had he not his hearing left with 
which to listen to the relation of evidence, his reason, iudgment 
and understnading, to weigh and consider? Was not the highest 
ideal of justice represented by a goddess with bandaged eyes? 
Had he not his voice to expound, define and urge conviction upon 

Why did men seek the council of those learned in the law? 
Surely not to see for them with the natural eye. If not, then 
must it not be to avail themselves of those higher powers of per- 
ception, of a trained and disciplined mind, equipped with super- 
ior knowledge, right judgment, gained from experience in the 
affairs of men; a mind skilled like the cunning hand of the 
swordsman, to uphold the right, protect the weak, and punish the 
guilty ? 

Thrilled with this thought, the pulse of the young man began 
once more to beat. The dark impenetrable cloud, which up to this 


time had enveloped him, melted away. The world once more took 
on the aspect of life and motion, and he again felt himself in it and 
of it. His heart grew lighter with every step as he took his way 
back to the house. 

As he closed the garden gate behind him, his ear caught a 
sound from the house which arrested his attention. It was the 
voice of a woman, sobbing as though her heart would break. Quick- 
ening his steps, he turned the angle of the house leading to the 
front porch and stopped, for the woman was now interjecting 
words in a broken voice, which he recognized as that of an old 
family servant who had nursed and cared for him when a boy, and 
of whom he had always been very fond. It had been some time 
since he had seen Aunt Margaret, as he called her. Twenty years 
before she had married Jerry Nolan, the village blacksmith, who 
lived only long enough to see and love the chubby face of a hand- 
some little baby boy. 

On one occasion, when the happy pair had called at the house, 
he remembered that Jerry, with a merry laugh, had showed the 
little fellow to the Judge, saying as he did so, " here is the makings 
of another judge. It's not much of a chance I've had myself, but 
God willing, this little chap shall have an education that will give 
him a chance to hold his head up with the best of them," and the 
Judge had said, "that is the right spirit, Jerry. This is a country 
where the poor man's boy may have as good an education as the 
richest in the land." 

Not many days after this, the kick of a vicious horse which 
Jerry was shoeing, had laid the poor fellow up. The injury proved 
a serious one, and in less than a week Margaret had buried her 
husband, and had taken up her life work, which was to carry out 
the plans of Jerry respecting the future of the now fatherless boy. 

Although Margaret retained her humble home, she was often 
employed by her old mistress, and little Willie Nolan, although five 
years the junior of Edward, frequently became his play-fellow, 
and when Edward entered the Elmdale University, he had willingly 
and gladly assisted Margaret's ambition by becoming the private 
tutor of her boy, and the day Edward was admitted to the bar, 
Willie Nolan passed the examination which made him a freshman 
at the University. 

It had been a hard struggle for both the mother and son, but 
as Willie had been as anxious for an education as his mother was 
for him, working diligently during the vacations, and often doing 


extra work as a stenographer during term time he managed to get 
on. He had only made his mother a flying visit at the close of the 
spring term, making her heart glad with the intelligence that he 
had obtained a position as reporter on the "American," a leading 
Elmdale daily. 

"Oh! Judge, Judge; if only Mr. Edward was not blind, poor 
man, I know he could save my boy. Oh! Jerry, my husband, it 
is God's mercy that ye did not live to see this hour. My precious 
boy shut up in jail and charged with the awful crime of murder. 
Woe is me, woe is me!" 

Edward waited to listen no longer, but hurrying along as fast 
as he could towards the place from which the sobs were coming, 
called out, "What* is this you are saying, Willie in jail — charged 
with murder? There must be some terrible mistake. I would 
stake my life, my dear, good soul, that your boy is as incapable of 
such a crime as my father or I would be ." 

"Ah! I knew you would say that, and if you only had 3^our 
eyesight, I know my Willie would be saved. Poor dear man, 
surely I am forgetting all about your terrible misfortune on account 
of my own troubles. Please forgive me, Mr. Edward, I didn't mean 
to hurt you." 

"You didn't hurt me. Aunt Margaret, and besides, I shall be 
able to do just as much for Willie as though I could see. It is only 
some terrible mistake of identity, or something of that sort. But 
how did you hear of it?" 

"Sit down, my boy, said the Judge, "and I will read you the 
letter which Aunt Margaret has received from Willie. I think 
she over estimates the danger, but, nevertheless, I should judge 
that there will be work for someone to do to clear up the mystery 
of the murder of Benj. Brockway, the editor of the 'American.' 
But here is the letter. 

Dearest mother: I hesitate and tremble when I attempt to 
write and tell you what happened to me, but as nothing can pre- 
vent your hearing about it, I want to be the first one to send vou 
an account of my arrest and detention, under the charge of com- 
mitting an awful crime. I need not tell you that I am innocent, 
mother dear, need I ? Not if every one else believes me guilty. 

All I know is that Mr. Brockway asked me to do something 
which I could not do, and I told him so. .He became very angry 
and called me the upstart son of a wash-woman. I retorted that 
I would rather be honest and the son of a wash-woman, than to 


engage in any rascally business like that which he had proposed. 
He struck me, mother, and I left the office, saying, as I did so, "you 
will rue the day you did that. It will be my time next." Our 
quarrel had attracted the attention of several compositors, who 
must have heard my wv.ds as I left the office. 

Mother, he had dared to ask me to assist him in a scheme of 
blackmail. An article had been brought in for him to publish, 
charging a prominent and highly respected citizen of Elmdale with 
secretly supplying arms to the enemies of our country. Brockway 
had evidently taken me for a man without principle like himself, 
for he called me into his private office just as a dark visaged Span- 
iard was leaving it, and slapping me on the shoulder said, "Nolan, 
here is the chance of your life. You saw that fellow who just left 
here? Well it seems he has just had a quarrel with his brother, 
Ergonsorat, concerning a consignment of rifles for the Philippines. 

Here are the documents to prove his brother's and old 
man Winchell's complicity in the affair. You know the old man 
is rich and will come down handsomely. I want you to contrive 
to see him and tell him that the brother of Ergonsorat has placed 
these documents in your hands, to give to me, for publication, 
and that if he will lay down twenty thousand dollars you will turn 
them over to him, otherwise you will give them to me. 

You see, mother, this cowardly villan wanted me to become 
a blackmailer, and he offered me five thousand dollars; out of the 
twenty thousand that I should get, and when he found out that he 
had counted on the wrong man, he was so enraged that he lost all 
control of himself. 

My threats as I left the office simply referred to the resolution 
which I had made to expose him, but when I reached the street, 
I reflected that I had no proof to sustain my story ; he could laugh 
at me and defy me, so I concluded to say nothing about it, at least 
until I had reached home, and had a chance to talk it over with 
Judge Crawford. 

Well, mother dear, I had lost my position, and you know 
how much I counted on the money I should earn this vacation 
to carry me through next winter. I have not been ignorant that 
you have been over-taxing yourself to help me get through college, 
and I had determined not to take another penny from you if I 
could possibly help it. Well, I went to my room to sit down and 
think it over. I had brought a copy of the "American" home 
with me, and glancing over the advertisements I saw that Brun- 


son, the livery man, had advertised for a cab-driver. I deter- 
mined to apply immediately for the situation, as I felt that I had 
no time to lose waiting for anything better, besides, I knew that 
a cab-driver's wages would be at least $2 per day, and this was 
more than I was getting from Brockway ; but as I was going down 
the stairs, a foolish pride took possession of me, and I thought of 
the sneers that I knew I should have to bear when I went back co 
college, if certain boys found it out, and so I was weak enough, 
dear mother, to disguise myself with a false beard when I applied 
for the situation. One of the cab stands is just opposite the office 
of the American, and Mr. Brunson assigned me to that stand. 

Two days ago my cab was hailed by Brockway, and he kept 
me driving around the city for more than an hour, and finally dis- 
missed me and entered a cigar store near the comer of Grant street 
and Grand Avenue. I had not driven more than half a block, 
when a lady came out of a store and bade me wait for her a few 
minutes. Returning shortly, she stood looking down the street, 
and turning to look in the same direction I plainly saw Brockway 
and a stranger come out of the cigar store, cross the street, and 
enter a second-hand piano store. 

The lady, whom I remember was very beautiful, and dressed 
in black, looked to me like a Spanish or Italian woman, then 
entered my cab, and bade me drive to the Elmdale railroad station, 
which I did. As she paid me the cab fare I noticed that she wore 
diamond ear-rings and had several diamond rings upon her un- 
gloved hand. She also had a fine gold chain around her neck, to 
which was attached a gold cross studded with diamonds. She 
spoke with quite a foreign accent, but I could not tell whether she 
was Spanish or Italian. 

I drove back to my stand, got off the cab, and seeing that the 
cab-door was not securely fastened, I stepped up to close it. I 
noticed something on the floor of the cab, which proved to be a 
small light gray purse with the initials V. T. burnt on it. Upon 
examining it I found that it only contained a few words on a slip 
of paper in some foreign tongue. 

Yesterday morning, as I took my place at the cab-stand I 
was arrested and taken to the police station, where I learned of 
the disappearance of Brockway and the finding of his body at the 
foot of West Rock, with his features so mutiliated as to be un- 
recognizable, the body only being identified by the clothing found 
upon it. 


After my arrest, it was, of course, discovered that I wore a 
false beard, and when I was recognized as a former employee of 
Brockway, and it came out that I had quarreled with, and threaten- 
ed him, and that he was last seen in my company, I was told I 
would be held to await the action of the grand jury, The little 
purse I found has been taken from me and is I suppose, now in the 
possession of the prosecuting Attorney. 

Now dear mother I have written all these particulars to you, 
because I want you to take this letter to Judge Crawford, and do 
whatever he advises you to do. 

Poor Mr. Edward, how I sympathized with him when I heard 
he had lost his sight, I little thought then, that ere a month rolled 
round, I should be in a far worse plight. 

Do not despair, dear mother, for though matters look very dark 
for me now, I somehow feel that it will come out allright, after all. 
Hovv^ sorry I am to be the cause of so much grief, to the dearest, 
most self-sacrificing mother in the world, and what makes me 
feel worse about it is, that it has all been brought about by the 
foolish pride that induced me to put on that false beard, for if it 
had not been for that, Brockway, would have recognized me and 
hired some other cab. 

Your Affectionate son, — Willie. 

As the Judge finished reading the letter, he and Margaret 
Nolan looked inquiringly into the face of Edward which wore the 
aspect of deep thought, and anxiety. Gradually the expression 
became less anxious and finally one of hope, if not confidence, took 
its place. Turning to her he said, "Be of good cheer. Aunt Mar- 
garet; I admit that Willie is in a pretty tight box, but his story has 
the stamp of truthfulness, and' the circumstances, after all, only 
make out, or rather, lay the foundations for a suspicion of guilt. 
In the excitement following the discovery of the tragedy, too much 
has been made of his quarrel with Brockway, and the disguise he 
.wore when arrested. 

I am confident that we shall have him with us within the 
week. The real mystery about this is not who murdered Brockway, 
but whether he has been murdered at all. 

To-morrow I will go to Elmdale, and have a talk with the prose- 
cuting attorney, and I shall be very much mistaken if I am not able 
to show him he has gotten hold of the wrong man." 

The look on the Judge's face was not quite so confident, but 
Margaret seemed to catch an inspiration from Edward, and her 


exclamation of thanksgiving and jov, made it evident that the 
heavy burden which was crushing out her Hfe had been partially 
rolled away. 

She had been accustorned to believe that everything which 
Edward undertook, he would carry through successfully, and with a 
"God bless you, my boy," she turned to go. A few moments 
later both the Judge and Edward heard her talking with Mary, in 
the kitchen, in her old animated way. 

The Judge inquired if he did not think that he had promised 
Margaret too much when he said he would have him back within 
a week, but the heart of the old man had also been relieved of a 
heavy burden, for the dull, far-away look, had left the face of his 
son, and he almost welcomed a situation, which had such a mirac- 
ulous effect, in arousing the interest of his boy. 

He did not know that the battle had been fought out in the 
garden, and that a new sun had risen above the horizon, in the 
life of Edward Crawford, when he had turned his steps from the old 
bee-shed, with a resolution to once more be a living factor in the 
world's affairs. 

At the supper table that night, Edward's animated conversa- 
tion on the various topics of the day, made the hearts of both 
father and sister bound for joy. 

When the old Judge reached his room that night, he offered 
up a prayer of thanksgiving, with a grateful heart, for the change 
that had come over his boy. 

When Edward retired to his room, it was not to sleep, for 
his mind was too much occupied. Every word of William Nolan's 
letter came as clearly and distinctly before him, as though he had 
it in his hand, and was reading it as he might have done had he 
had his sight. Carefully going over each detail, he studied the 
situation from every stand-point which his fertile imagination could 
conjure up. Now his brow would knit, and a puzzled expression 
come over his face. 

At regular intervals, the old clock in the hall, which reached 
from the ceiling to the floor, tolled the hours as they passed, but 
still the motionless figure held its place in his favorite chair by 
the window. 

Finally the face lighted up, with a satisfied smile, and spring- 
ing from the chair, Edward quickly disrobed, and a few minutes 
later was sleeping as restfully as a child. Just as the sun began to 


dispel the darkness of the night, he suddenly awakened, as though 
a bugle call had summoned him to the performance of a duty. 
For a few minutes he lay wondering if it were yet morning. 

The question was soon answered by the chirping of a bird, 
just outside his window, and another in a tree near by, and another 
and another, until every tree about the old house became vocal, 
and a grand chorus of the sweetest music he had ever listened to 
came from the throats of a myriad of feathered songsters, herald- 
ing the dawn. 

Never had he been so impressed before, by the songs of birds; 
was this one of the compensations of the loss of sight ? Had he 
awakened in a new world, and was this the foretaste of some of its 
joys ? Surely never had the Grand Opera afforded him more delight. 
How petty seemed the stage, and all its trappings, when in his 
imagination, the curtain of night, rolled back, accompanied by a 
triumphant burst of song, revealing the rising sun, as he, in all his 
glory, mounted his throne, the monarch of the day. — But the 
play was on, and he must act his part. 

In a few minutes his whip cane was following the edge of the 
plank walk which led past the carriage house to the stable. He 
had always been very fond of horses, and when he threw open the 
stable door, it seemed like old times to be greeted by the welcome 
whinny of faithful old Jennie. She had been the family pet ever 
since he could remember. Going up to her he passed his hand over 
her smooth coat, and felt to see if her ears were thrown forward, 
as they were wont to be, when, in the old days, now so far behind 
him, he had entered her stall. 

Yes the same glad greeting awaited him, and patting her on 
the neck, he spoke to her in his old boyish fashion. "You want 
your breakfast old girl, don't you, and you shall have it." 

He was rather surprised to see how readily he could get about 
the barn. The oat -bin was just where he placed his hand to find 
it, and filling the measure with oats, he emptied them in the manger, 
and he listened with pleasure to the grunts of satisfaction and the 
tap, tap of Jennie's foot on the stable floor, as she crunched the oats. 

For a few minutes he stood in the stable door, feeling the 
warmth of the sun's rays, and listening to the various sounds of 
life in the barn-yard. 

He took a few steps over to the bars which shut in the cows 
for the night, and placing his arms on the top rail, noticed that 
they had stopped chewing their cuds at his approach, and he knew 


as well as if he could see, that their great mild eyes were looking 
up into his face. 

The buzzing sounds of the insects, the flicking of the cows' 
tails, brushing the flies from their backs, the cluck, cluck and the 
scratch, scratch of the mother hen, the peeps of her little family, 
as she industriously uncovered the grubs for their morning meal, 
the boastful clacking of a hen joined by the cock, and the quack 
quack of the ducks, were all sounds reproducing a scene which 
brought with it a feeling at once restful and satisfying. 

Now the merry, joyous whistle of Dan, the man of all work 
about the place, smote upon his ear, and a momicnt later, Carlo 
came bounding forward, frisking about and leaping up, expressing, 
as only dogs can, his delight at once more seeing his old play- 

"Good morning. Master Edward," was the cheerful greeting 
from Dan, "seems to me you are up bright and early this morning. 
What's afoot?" 

"Good morning Dan, I want to catch the seven o'clock train 
for Elmdale this morning. I have given Jennie her breakfast, and 
I want you to have her around at the door soon enough to get me 
to the station. I ani going in to get my breakfast now, and shall 
be ready to start in half an hour." 

He took out his watch, and touched the hands lightly with 
his thumbs, to ascertain the time, for he had already discovered 
that by removing the crystal, he could judge from the position of 
the hands, the time of day. 

"What time do you make it?" said Dan. 

"A quarter to six," Edward answered promptly. 

"Begorra! ye've just hit the mark; who'd a thought it," 
and Dan, with a look of wonder and admiration, turned to enter 
the stable. 

As Edward ascended the steps, the hearty good-morning of 
his father showed him that the cheerfulness in the tones of his 
voice was no longer forced, and the joy which swelled up in his 
heart, when he made this discovery, completed the young man's 
happiness. Life indeed was taking on a new aspect, and an hour 
and a quarter later, as the train sped on its way to the city, " Rich- 
ard was himself again." 

His father and sister had earnestly protested against his 
making the journey alone, but he would not hear of any other 
arrangement, assuring them that he should not attempt to go 


about the city unattended, and that he could easily get one of the 
brakemen on the train to put him in the hands of the station 
master, who would safely conduct him to a cab. Dan was to be 
at the station to meet -him on his return, and though not without 
some misgivings, they had bid him God-speed. 

When the conductor came through the car, he agreed, in 
response to a request from Edward, to attend upon him personally, 
when the train should reach Elmdale, and his first care, when in 
the hands of the station-master, was to ascertain of the ticket 
agent if he could recall the bejewelled foreign lady, described by 
William Nolan, and was overjoyed to find that he did so. He 
even remembered that she had purchased a ticket for Gray Harbor. 

Edward then took a cab giving directions to the cabman to 
drive him to the cigar store mentioned in Nolan's letter. 

He asked the cabman to describe the building on the opposite 
side of the street, which he did as follows: "Tis a brick, sur, wif 
foe stories whar de people lives up stairs, and dere am free stoes, 
one of which is a barber shop, an de udder two has got a big sign 
on over de doo, what says, Second-hand Pianos bought and sold." 

"Is that sign old, or a new one?" 

"Not bery old, sur; de paint am very bright. Have done driv 
by here a good many times an I 'se mighty sure dat sign were not 
dere more an foe weeks, as I done remember dem stoes had to-let 
sign in de window, befoe dat time." 

"Very well, now drive me to the Boardman Building, on Crown 

"All right sur." 

And twenty minutes later, having dismissed the cab, he was 
in his office, which occupied the third floor of the building. It 
lacked a half hour of nine o'clock. 

Letting himself into his office, he went to the telephone, and 
called for the chief of police. While he stood there waiting to be 
answered, it occtirred to him that in front of a telephone, his loss 
of sight certainly was no disadvantage. He had heard that the 
inventor of this instrument was seeking for a better method of 
communication with the deaf, after discovering that the sound of 
the human voice could, under proper conditions, be carried by an 
electric current and reproduced at a considerable distance from 
the speaker. He reflected that the deaf had profited little by the 
invention, but now for the first time he realized what it meant to 
the blind, f of here he stood, in front of a little instrument which would 


enable him to communicate with the business world, as easily, and 
in all respects the same as though he could see. 

Presently the well remembered voice of the chief was heard. 

"Hello Chief, is that you?" 

"Yes! but who in the dickens are you? Your voice sounds 
like Edward Crawford's." 

"Well, Chief, can't you believe your own ears?" 

"But I thought you'd lost your sight." 

"So I have." 

"You don't mean to say you are back in your old office?" 

"Yes Chief, ready for any kind of business that turns up. 
Can't you hear and understand me just as well as you could before 
you heard of my being blind?" 

" To be sure, to be sure, old bo3% but I supposed you were done 
for, for you see I never thought of a blind man in a law office." 

"Well, run over a few minutes. I have a little c^uick work for 
you, that needs immediate attention." 

"All right, I'll be right over." 
' "Hello! Central, heUo! Give me the office of the jail." 

"What's the number?" 

"That I can't give you: don't you know it?" 

"Yes, but I am not allowed to give it." 

"Well, give me the chief operator. Hello! Jenkins." 

" 'Pon my soul that sounds like Edward Crawford's voice." 

"Well, what of it old fellow; you don't think I am a ghost, 
do you ? ' ' 

"But I thought you were blind." 

"So I am, but that don't prevent my speaking over the tele- 
phone, and hearing your reply, does it?" 

"Sure enough. Well what I can do for you, Ed? " 

"I want you to make an order for my benefit. Tell the hello 
girls, whenever I call for anybody without giving them the number, 
the rule is off in my case, because if I happen to be alone in my 
office- 1 will not be able to look up the number for them." 

"That's all right, Crawford, v/ho do you want now?" 

"I want the office of the jailer Higgins." 

"All right." 

"Hello Higgins, that 3^ou?" 

"Yes! who are you?" 

"Edward Crawford." 

"What are you giving us? Edward Cravv^ford is blind." 


"Well he hasn't gone daft, if he is old boy. Now listen. I'm 
in my office and you have my old pupil, Willie Nolan in custody. 
I want to have a word with him, and ask you as a personal favor 
to conduct him to the telephone." 

"All right, Edward, but I'm blessed if ever I expected to see you 
on deck again." 

"Hello Willie, is that you?" 

"Yes! Mr. Edward." 

"How are you feeling this morning?" 

"Pretty well, Mr. Edward." 

"I thought I would let you know that I am here tending to 
your affairs, and to say to you, if anybody calls to question you, 
you are to refer them to me, do you understand? " 

"Yes, Mr. Edward." 

"One thing more; don't let this frighten you. I know what I 
am talking about, when I say this, so rest easy my boy, until I 
see you." 

"All right, Mr. Edward." 

" Good-bye." 

" Good-bye." 

Just at that moment. Chief Havelock came forward and grasped 
Edward by the hand. "Well, well, Edward, here you are back 
again in your old quarters. I knew you had the right stuff in you, 
but I thought you'd had a knock out blow for sure, when I heard 
you had gone blind." 

"Well I thought so too. Chief, for a time, but you see it is the 
business of a lawyer, when he runs up against a snag, to work the 
thing out, and the more I thought of it, the more I couldn't see 
any reason in my giving up, sitting down and folding my arms, 
and being cared for the rest of my life by others, and it finally dawned 
upon me that as long as I had not fitted myself to see for other 
people, with my eyes, and had fitted myself to see for other people 
with my brains, and that I still had my brain left, with several 
avenues of communication open, what was the use of my throwing 
up the sponge. You see, if I had been a coachman, an engineer, or a 
gunner on a frigate, I might have been compelled to give up beaten. 
But we haven't time to spare to talk it over any longer just now, 
for I want you to go around with me to the District Attorney's 
Office, and its almost nine now. 

By the way, I wonder if Coroner Brown has a telephone in 
his house. Perhaps I can catch him before he goes down town. 


"Hello Central! Has the Coroner a telephone at his house? 

Call him up for me please, will you? Is that you Coroner? 

Can you meet me at the District Attorney's Office in twenty minutes ? 
Very important. Has to do with the Brockway murder case. 
Stop on your way and bring the prosecuting attorney with you. 
I have a little peice of imfornation for you which I think you will 
consider right in point, and there is no time to be lost." 


Half an hour later, a conference was held at the District 
Attorney's office, resulting in Edward being given carte blanc, the 
District Attorney, and the Coroner both agreeing that it had been 
demonstrated to their entire satisfaction that AVilliam Nolan was 
not in any way responsible for the death or disappearance of 

Brockway was known to have lost the first joint of his index 
finger, on his left hand. The corpse with a mutilated face, dressed 
in his clothes, had no such deformity of the hand, but the Coroner 
had not made his discovery known, outside this conference, and 
upon Edward's proposition, that everything proceed as though 
they were all pursuaded of Nolan's guilt, so as to awaken no sus- 
picion on the part of the real culprit, or culprits, the conference 
came to an end, and an hour later a Revenue Cutter, lying at the 
Elmdale wharf, was steaming away towards Gray Harbor, with 
Chief Havelock and Edward Crawford on board. 

The District Attorney had in his possession telegrams from 
the proper authorities in Washington, commanding all vessels 
flying the United States flag to permit the District Attorney to 
examine their cargoes in the interest of justice. 

Just as the Revenue Cutter "Sprite" reached the mouth of 
Gray Harbor, a tramp steamer was seen in the offing on its way 
to sea. The Sprite immediately followed in hot pursuit, firing a 
signal for the tramp steamer to heave to, to which she paid no atten- 

Now began a chase which tried the powers of the two steamers. 
It was soon apparent, however, that the Revenue Cutter was gain- 
ing slowly but surely, on the other. Meanwhile Crawford was 
receiving the congratulations of the District Attorney, and the 
officers on board the Sprite, for it was evident by the failure of the 
vessel they were pursuing to heave to when she was signalled to 
do so by the Revenue Cutter, that Edward had arrived at the right 


conclusion with respect to the character of that vessel, notwith- 
standing she had received her clearance papers from the proper 
authorities. The only question to be determined now, was 
whether this seeming tramp steamer carried too manyjguns for 
the Revenue Cutter. Stowly but surely the distance between the 
two vessels diminished. 

To he coiitiniicd' 

Mind — Soul— The Light. 

The mind is the Soul — the real foutain of light, 

Which God in the beginning made 
The image and likeness of Himself, and hence is right 

When in the balance 'tis weighed. 

The mind is the Soul, and the Soul to be aright 
Must be be governed by laws God made. 

If this be done, it will ever be a beacon light 
To guide those who have strayed. 

The man who fails to perceive that the Soul is the light 

Which is ever shining within. 
Is groping in dense darkness, and deep gloom of night, 

And groveling in doubt and sin. 

If we live as we should, we shall always do right, 

And He'll not censure us a word. 
And when we appear at His Great Kingdom of Light, 

The words, "Well done, " shall be heard. 

— By Harry T. Nisbet. 

Mind — Soul — the life principle, is all that has any actual 
existence in the composite man, and is an attribute of its Creator, 
and reflects His image and likeness. Mind — Soul, has ever ex- 
isted from the beginning, and will continue to exist throughout all 
Eternity. We are taught that God made man in His image and 
likeness, which, of course, means Soul — Mind. And also we are 
taught that God formed the human man from the dust of the earth, 
and that when worms shall have destroyed this mortal body, the 
body -man again mingles with its original fellow-dust; while the 
Soul — Spirit — Mind — the real man — shall live on forever, and 
continue to reflect the image of its Creator, and like Him, is always 
and ever perfect. The mortal or carnal mind of man is incapable 
of conceiving the form and nature of the real Mind — Soul — Spirit — 
Man — attribute and image of God. Mind has ever existed from 
the beginning, and will continue to exist, in its perfectness, to the 
end of time (if time has an ending), we firmly believe. No human 
being, endowed with intelligence, that has ever lived, desires to 


believe otherwise that he shall continue to exist, after the body- 
man has ceased to exist, as such; and although environment will 
be changed, his real self — Mind — Soul, shall continue to live so 
long as God Himself shall live. The laws and rules which God 
has formulated for the guidance and practice of mortal man on 
earth, are given us so that we may make human life more nearly 
perfect, and thus make us more capable of enjoying the good 
things which He has so bountifully supplied us for our earthly 
existence, comfort and happiness. 

"Do unto others as we would they should do unto us" is a 
command which God has given us that we may better enjoy the 
comforts, pleasures and blessings of earthly life, and the companion- 
ship of our fellow-men. The nearer we practice this law, or com- 
mand, the nearer we shall cause the human mind to become perfect, 
as is the real mind — Soul — Spirit — Man; and better qualify us 
for body enjoyment, and comforts of earthly existence, and also, 
probably, better fit us for that realm where forever shall exist, 
in its perfectness, the real man — Soul — Spirit — Mind. 

August 25, 1903. 

— Bv Harry T. Nisbet. 

The Optimistic Frog. 

The following is told as illustrating what is meant by true 

Two frogs, it is said, fell into a bowl of cream. One was a 
thorough going pessimist, and, utterly discouraged at the un- 
natural liquid he was in, gave up hope and sank. The other, a 
true optimist, admitted that the conditions were extremely un- 
pleasant, but determined to do the best he could, and so kicked 
with all his might. The next morning he was found floating 
about comfortablv on a little pat of butter. 

True optimism does not say that everything is best just as it 
is. It recognizes that times are often out of joint, but it always 
feels that there is use in making an effort, and often finds that in 
making the effort it reaches the true solution of the difficulty. 

For Lo^e of Her. 

Uhe ^tory of a .Strange Tle-Venge. 

Yes, it's over six months ago, but there's something still 
comes in my throat when I'm asked about otir Kitty. We knew 
her, and we knew the chap that put down his life to save 
the man she loved; and it wants forgetting. Pretty was she? 
Well, you must think of a girl that stepped as proud as a queen, 
with a laugh like some peal o' bells just starting; with real black 
hair, all in them little clinging nigger-curls that never want brush- 
ing; hands and face brown as berries; and them velvety eyes 
that look at you without seeing — soft as pansies one moment and 
flashing fire the next. That was Kitty. D'you wonder why every- 
one was calling poor Joe Arkell a mad mug from the very beginning. 

I was standing at this very spot, with a crowd of pals. As if 
it was this moment, I can see her come floating round that corner 
there, with her head high, and her Sunday dress done up careful 
in a newspaper. Not a minute later, while we were staring at one 
apparition, we saw another. Round the same corner, stealthy 
Hke, his crutch going klippety-klop, panted this Joe Arkell. And 
she seemed to guess, and flashed round, and pointed. "Thought so! 
she says. "It wont do. You can cut back, and keep there!" 
And he looked at her, his mouth twitching up queer and his shak- 
ing hand out, till we all burst out laughing. And that girl, she 
swung round with clenched fists and gave us a look. Just one 
look ; but it stopped the laugh and set the place talking. 

Inside twenty-four hours the other girls were that mad jealous 
and mystified they could have torn her curls out ; but there was just 
that funny little "stand back!" about her that seemed to say she 
was somehow cut out for a different destiny. She had a thrilling 
way of turning round slow and just looking at you — you know 
without telling, if you've seen a duchess. And she come to live at 
Clekenwell because the houses down her way were doomed at last. 
So far, well and good! But when we saw Joe Arkell's face we 
knew there was some tragedy coming along with Kitty. 

Ever been down them back turnings King's Cross way? Then 
very likely you've passed Joe — wedged between a wheel-barrow 
and a 'tater-stall, and his stock was about a dozen linnets in cages. 


Some said he was consumptive, some said he was only m love, and 
some said it was the Hnnets singing in his room all night that dis- 
turbed his sleep and kept him so unnatural white. Anyway, that 
was the chap, with one ankle twisted and a face all askew, that 
went dreaming he was going to win Kitty, in the face of all the 
likely men in London. Roar? Yes, we did then. We don't 

He'd given up smoking and drinking, and was saving every 
ha'penny quietly. Just because she'd looked at him a few times, 
or spoken softly out of pity for him, there he was down on his 
knees, kissing the pavement she walked. See? We knew it after- 
wards; the chap was all heart, like a cabbage — his body hadn't 
grown properly. Now listen! 

She'd heard him cough, it seems, and told him to see a doctor 
man at once. "Oh, yes! Leave London!" the doctor says. 
"Leave it, and go and live at Bournemouth, sharp!" Anyone but 
Joe would have asked for their money back at once, but he took 
it right to heart and went and told her. And she says — perhaps 
thinking, and perhaps not; you know what women are — "I knew 
it. You'd be a sight healthier and a sight happier. Only you'd 
need someone to look after you!" 

"Don't say that if you're not meaning it," Joe whispers, all 
of a sudden. Just like himJ 

"I never meant anything more," she told him, and walked 
away quick. 

Only that; but up went the curtain, and that chap was talk- 
ing away to himself and basking in fairyland. A little country 
cottage, with the sea in front and vegetables at the back; some- 
thing twining round the porch — and Kitty. Nothing else! 

They say he wrote those very words in a letter, and told her 
how much he'd saved, and put the letter through the post. And 
one day he found the letter in bits on his barrow; but he couldn't 
seem to believe. And when he heard she was coming to Clerken- 
well to live he sat there for days without a word to anyone, only 
just staring at something no one else could see. What d'you 
think? Spite of all the chaffing he sold up for a mere song, followed 
her here, and started living on stray coppers he could earn by 
hobbling errands. And nothing in the world would shake his 

Now, it's always been a mystery to us what was deep down 
in that girl's mind. Was she playing cat-and-mouse with the chap 


like some women do, or did she like him somehow and feel mad 
with herself for allowing it? I ask, because for now and again 
\^ou'd see her peering round corners at him with a sort of mist in 
her eyes; and if once she got some nipper to give him twopence 
for a dummy errand, she did it a dozen times — and she only sold 
moss-roses for a living herself. If you ask me, that girl was born 
for a real lady, gliding in and out palms and fountains. It showed 
in her very step — shone in her pansy eyes! We've seen her go 
mad-wild when a band played, and dance and sing like an actress 
born to it — and then burst suddenly into sobs that no one could 
make out. She couldn't understand her own self! And to think 
of him watching her day after day, holding his breath to throw a 
few violets through her window and make a sort of romance of 
it — there, it was nigh heart-breaking. 

One night — one night, as we heard, it had been raining hard, 
and Joe stood coughing to himself under the cab-shed. And she 
happened past, and the sound seemed to go right to her heart. She 
showed it by turning on him as fierce as anything. 

"Stop that row!" she says. Wonderful how it stopped the 
cough, too! "You do it purposely for me to hear. You've had 
your chance and threw it away!" 

"Yes, Kitty, I know," he says, very quiet. "It was you sent 
the mission man round; don't think I've forgotten. I could have 
a free ticket for the seaside home, with tons of grub and blankits, 
for the worst winter months. Go? No; not if he gave me the 
home itself," he whispers, looking her in the eyes for once. "Mayn't 
be so much longer! When you've found a man that loves you and 
wants you more, then I'll give in. Till then let me go on hoping, 
and you shan't hear the cough more'n I can help." 

Queer words when you come to think what happened. We 
didn't guess for weeks; we only heard whispers and rumors. But 
all of a sudden down flashed the news, like a streak of lightning. 
Her face had done it — that look in her eyes — at last. And there it 
was, chalked all over the place for poor Joe Arkell to see. 

She'd been standing one day, stroking out the rose-leaves with 
her little brown fingers, and a toff's cab curled round a corner and 
all but ran her down. She jumped away startled, and I suppose 
he saw something in the wide eyes that he'd been dreaming of all 
his life. Anyway, he sprang out and bought a rose — bought the 
bunch, and offered three times the price. And next thing — yes,, 
next thing we heard that his jewel-ring had bought Kitty. She 


flashed up like a star and left us all behind; she was his wife, by 
special license. It almost stunned us for the moment. But there 
it was ; we'd lost our duchess — and poor Joe Arkell had lost what he'd 
have put down his crippled body for twice over. He proved it. 

Hs * * * * * * 

Yes, very likely you've seen in the papers a picture of the villa 
down at Hampstead, smothered in some foreign creeper, and with 
a golden railing all round it ; maybe you read just what happened. 
And if you couldn't understand it all, it's only because you never 
saw Kittv Lovell, or the chap who loved her to that length. 

She was there , queen of it all — villa, servants, and grounds. 
I fancy I see her sweeping through the mirrored rooms and along 
them balconies, glancing back to see if her velvet train was coming 
along with the correct twist, and them steel stars shining in her 
nigger-curls. Music, dancing, Chinese lanterns, and all the rest of 
it — for maybe a month! And then I can see her again, when the 
house is quiet, break down terrible and clench her fists as she drops 
the smile like a mask, and watches that black cloud creeping up 
hand over hand in the distance. Aye, and I can see something 
else: that picture of Joe Arkell, who'd found it all out too, and was 
haunting the house, watching for the cloud to burst. 

You've guessed? She'd given her whole life and love to a 
man who was playing a double part — a man who couldn't know 
one minute from another when a hand was going to nip his shoulder 
from behind. Money? Yes, heaps of money and friends, when 
you can forge flash bank-notes and do other funny little things in 
a locked room! And one day, as we heard afterwards, she found 
the key of the room, and found the key to his double life. But 
it was too late; she was his wife. He only laughed when loving 
him so, she went down on her knees to say she'd give up all the 
money to keep him straight. He might make a fresh start, if 
nothing happened, he said — with the new year! 

And the last day of December had come round — as near as 
that ! There was to be a big party next day ; the rooms were wait- 
ing to blaze up with lights, silver plate, and women's eyes; the bells 
were ready to ring. And she couldn't bear the last few hours of 
suspense. She'd step out, always watching and listening, down 
to the gate and out into the quiet roadway, whispering to her hus- 
band only to give up his ways before it was too late. And of a 
sudden she saw Joe there, as he stood under them big trees. It's 
.certain he never meant to tell her what he knew, perhaps hadn't 
even meant to speak; but he couldn't help himself. 


"Kitty!" he whispers. "One word! For all the money you're 
not so happy — you'd come back? Only say it — just once." 

And she half put out her hand, and then shivered and ran back 
as if he'd been a ghost or a detective. And there Joe stands in a 
sweat, his brain hard at work on her account; and then, as if some- 
thing pulled him, he crept up along that side path. As he stood 
listening there he heard the man laugh and Kitty choking back 
sobs in a way that no third person would like to hear. Did she 
know? he asks himself. Was it his place to. warn 'em both that 
the police were drawing the net closes and closer round her Prince ? 

"Very well," the man was saying. "If I'm such a villain, if 
I'm breaking your heart, I'll let you go!" Just like that. 

He lit a ruby lamp, threw down his silk hat and fur-lined 
overcoat, and went out, humming a tune. Joe found himself star- 
ing through two glass doors, half open, and her standing there like 
some statue, the pansy eyes looking out at — at what only such a 
woman sees at such a moment in her life. And before he knew it, 
his blood surging up mad, he limps in and snatches her cold fingers, 
and fair chokes it out. 

"It's because I loved you and can't bear it! Take his word; 
leave him while ther's time! For your own sake — not mine — leave 
the life this night, and I'll never be asking you to look at me again!" 

Did she understand? Who's to know? If she'd meant to 
answer him, she couldn't. That other door suddenly went back 
and the man stood there. 

"Oh, indeed!" he says. "Is that it? Is that why your heart's 
breaking? — is this the old flame I've seen sneaking round the 
house night after night? Wants you back, does he?" 

One rush, his eyes fair blazing. Joe hadn't moved a muscle, 
but Kitty — seems she sprang between just in time, all her old hot 
blood taking life again. 

"Touch him!" she breathes. "Only lay a finger on him — on 
a man who'd die to help me and can't help himself! Only dare!" 

And then ? You can figure it out yourself. He'd swung 

her away and his hand was at Joe's throat. And all of a sudden 
there was a banging and a sort of stifled scream, and a servant came 
flying down the passage. 

"The police! They want master — they've got a warrant — 
they're bursting the door-chain! They're in!" 

That was it. In one flash it all seemed to happen. Quick as 
lightning the man they wanted had banged the glass doors together, 


locked them, and turned round to sell his life at top price. There 
was a pistol swinging up in his hand. And Kitty — she'd given one 
cry and had both her arms round his neck in an agony. Things 
had changed with a rush. At such a moment all her heart had 
swung back to the man she'd promised to love and cherish. She 
was a woman. 

"Never!" she sobs. "If they take you they take my life!" 
For the clock-beat it was all or nothing. Then, as them quick 
steps sounded, and there wasn't a pin for his life, something hap- 
pened. They saw Joe throw down his crutch, steady himself with 
a sharp breath, and snatch up the silk topper and fur coat. In a 
trice they were on him; in another he'd snatched away that pistol. 
"Her life! She said that," he whispers. "For her sake, go!" 
Bash! went the lamp. In one spring he got to the door and 
was out — rushed into their very arms, fighting like mad with four 
of them. What really happened, no one seems to know. Whistles 
blew, women screamed, doors banged; and then, when Joe's own 
shout was heard, and he went under, doubled up, they flashed their 
lanterns round the room, and only saw Kitty standing there, with 
eyes that saw nothing and lips that couldn't move. The man they 
believed they'd captured was clear away in the confusion, flying 
for dear life. And at what price? . . . When they lifts up 
their prize they lifts a dead weight, with that faint smile dying out 
of his eyes, and the little blob o' red on his lips. He put out a 
twitching hand to her. "Silence!" it meant. He couldn't speak — 
didn't want to. Words were nothing; that silence was everything 
for five minutes inore. 

And he got them. They found out their mistake — just when 
the hospital doctor man had stripped away the fur coat and was 
listening for some word to explain. It came, just as them bells 
started pealing, just as the world was holding out hands to the new 

year And the words were carried to her, just as his 

lips had whispered 'em : — 

"I'm paid. I loved her! Ask her — ask her if she'll believe 
it now!" — The Mirror. 


Figg. — "What a peculiar man Dunder is! He has a sovereign 
contempt for anybody who doesn't know as much as he does." 
Fogg. — "I should think he would, indeed!" 

— The Cyme. 

XOritten For UalK-s and Ualej. ^U 'Rights "Reser-Oed. 

*^ 'Pinehur^i, ^ 

Mrs. M. M. 'Buckjier. 

CHAPTER VI— Continued. 

Trotty had wandered out into the garden, as the stories had 
made him verv drows3^ and his absence was not noticed tiU all were 
startled by a shrill scream. Meg reached the little fellow first 
"What is it, my -precious," said his mamma, taking the frightened 
baby in her arms. "It was a old pillow-case," he sobbed, "it just 
crawled on my foot. A pillow-case, mamma," he explained to his 
puzzled mother. "Here it is," cried the boys, coming up with 
something on a leaf held down with a stick, "a little worm." 
"Yes, dat's it," said Trotty, "ain't it a pillow-case, Dack?" 
"That's what you call it, Trotty," said his cousin, "but we call it 
a catterpillar." 

They were begging for permission to go berrying. " I tell you, 
Aunt Kate, the vines are loaded down with berries in that old lane 
at the foot of the red hill. "Why, Aunt Kate, one blackberry will 
make a mouthful, they are so big." And various other good 
reasons were given why they should make the excursion. "Well, 
if they are so plentiful as you say, perhaps you had better go and 
pick some and your Aunt Floy and I will make some jam and 
jelly." There was a great stir in the kitchen as they sought for 
baskets and buckets, and much shouting to each other as they raced 
over the house looking up old gloves, sunbonnets and broad- 
brimmed hats. "Just look at Em," cried Bertie, as they started 
and that damsel made her appearance with an umbrella. "Would 
like to know how you're to pick berries and hold an umbrella 
over your head," sniffed Lil, who scorned the gloves that her 
mother insisted on her wearing and wouldn't have worn a bonnet 
if the other girls hadn't been so particular about wearing theirs. 
Em couldn't stand the ridicule of her companions and most re- 
luctantly put her sunshade back in the stand. "We'll be back, 
Em, before the sun gets very hot," soothed her sister, seeing the 


little girl was inclined to pout. Away went the little troop with 
their shining tin pails, their blithe young voices and gay laughter 
growing fainter and fainter as they went down the road that wound 
around the hill at the foot of which grew the blackberries, glisten- 
ing and nodding on their luxurient vines waiting for the merry 
pickers to come and gather them, for no one but the birds shared 
of their abundance. Jack had scrambled over a ditch and was 
carefully gathering a few berries that grew by the roadside. 'Til 
be the first to fill my bucket," he cried." "Pshaw," said Meg, 
"I wouldn't stop for a handful of berries." "Nor I wouldn't go 
out in the sun for no more than that," said Em. Bertie, with a 
vigorous twist broke off a leafy branch from a bay and presented 
it to Em with a bow. "Will your ladyship please to hold this 
rustic umbrella over your head?" Em scornfully refused the 
gift, but Lil said, "give it to me, Bertie, Lll hold it and walk close 
to Em and it will shade us both." "I thought you didn't mind 
the sun," said Bertie, in surprise. "I don't" replied Lil, whose 
fancy had been caught by the novel umbrella, "but I rather like to 
smell this bay bush." So she and Em fell back from the others 
and grew quite confidential, agreeing to pick together and have 
nothing to do with the others. "We'll fill our baskets," said Lil, 
and slip back home and leave them to v/onder what has become of 
us." This plan met with much favor and there was much whis- 
pering and laughing between them to the chagrin of Jack, who 
tried two or three times to ingratiate himself but was promptly 
snubbed. Jack was quite puzzled at such unmerited treatment 
and turning his back on such fickle comrades, busied himself pick- 
ing berries and trying to think of some v/ay to "get even" with the 
conspirators. "These are fine fellows, certain," said Bertie, as 
he divided the berries he picked equally between his mouth and his 
bucket. "I say, Meg, you're beating me," and he peeped over in 
Meg's basket, which was nearly half full, while his barely covered 
the bottom of the bucket. "Do you pick faster, or do you use both 
hands?" Meg glanced at him and replied, "If you could see your 
mouth, Bertie, you'd not wonder why I was getting ahead." "Don't 
you eat any?" he asked, curiously. "No, I haven't tasted a berry 
yet. I never care to eat any till Lm through picking and then I 
don't like them without cream and sugar." "Meg always picks 
more than anyone else," remarked Jack, who was going into the 
briars regardless of thorns or snakes. Em and Lil picked awhile 
where the others had been, but finding the berries not so plentiful 


and not wishing to be too near for fear they might not be able to 
vanish when the time came, decided to seek berries elsewhere. 
"This is not the only place where we can find blackberries," said 
Em, "we can get them most any where, but I'll tell you where we 
can find a level bushel — over yonder, close to the pasture fence," 
and she pointed out the direction to Lil, who instantly assented 
and very quietly the two slipped aw^ay from their companions. 
Faster and faster they ran when they got far enough off not to fear 
that the noise they made running through the bushes would attract 
the attention of the others. "We'll have to pick fast when we get 
to the berries," panted Lil, "to make up for lost time." "Oh, 
we'll find plent}^ of them soon," answered Em," glancing back. 
"I'm only afraid Meg and the boys will miss us before we get out 
of hearing, for if Meg w^ere to call us, I'd be obliged to go back or 
Aunt Kate would be angry. She always tells Meg to take car*^ of 

me, and tells us to mind Meg, and you see " "Yes, I see, but 

they'll not miss us, they were in a thick place picking and all those 
trees are between us now. Where are we now, Em?" and Lil 
wiped her hot face. "Oh, we're over here, back of the field," said 
Em, indefinitely. "Do you think there are blackberries any- 
where about here?" "Yes," said Em, "blackberries grow nearly 
everywhere. Let me see," she said, as they emerged from the 
woods into a road. "Where does this road go; it must be the road 
that goes back to the pond, and if it is, we'll soon be to the pasture 
fence and then we'll be nearer home than Meg and the boys." On 
they went, quite breathless and tired, and Em was not at all sure 
that they were going in the right direction, but she thought they 
would have to find the berries if they kept on. " I wish Jack were 
with us," she said, "he always knows a near way to every place," 
and she felt a twinge of conscience at the way they had treated 
him. "Well, I don't wish he were here," said Lil, stoutly, "but 
Em, let's leave this road and go down to that fence, isn't that the 
pasture fence?" "I believe it is," said Em, hopefully. She had 
worn a very worried look on her red face since finding that the 
road was unfamiliar looking. Coming to the fence they decided 
to get over and perhaps on the other side was the place where the 
berries grew. But, alas, for the poor children. There was no 
opposite side ; it had been taken away or maybe it had never been 
put there. There was nothing before them but the woods, and far 
over the hills, miles away a field or two. After awhile they came 
to a road thickly covered with fine straw, showing not a trace of 


ever having been traveled. Em stopped and looked at Lil, des- 
pairingly. "We're lost, I don't know where home is, nor which 
way to go," and her voice trembled. Lil laughed and said, "You're 
such a baby, Em, why, we can get back to Meg if we can't find 
home." "No we can't," cried Em, "for I don't know the way 
back, and you don't either." Lil was forced to admit that she did 
not, but said cheerfully, "If we knew which end of this road to take 
we'd be all right." "Yes, but I don't think this road goes any- 
where, don't you see there are no tracks or ruts for wheels in it?" 
" Never mind, we'll keep on, for it's no use to sit down and wait for 
somebody to find us. I guess we are pretty close to the black- 
berries, ain't we, Em?" "Blackberries!" said Em, almost in a 
wail, "I don't want to find them now. I'll be glad to find home," 
and she sobbed aloud. "Well, baby, cry about it," said Lil, un- 
feelingly. "I'll never trust you again, Em, you have lived all your 
life out here and ought to know these woods and roads like a book, 
and where we are lost like the Babes," and Lil looked very cross. 
"I wonder if there are any bears in these woods!" "I wish there 
were ," said Em, smarting under what she felt was base treat- 
ment from Lil, for it was that young lady who had planned this 
little excursion, "and they'd come out and devour us." "Yonder 
is a house!" cried Lil, suddenly, "but I don't think anybody lives 
there, it is so still looking," and she peered eagerly through the 
trees at the cabin, which was built of logs and in a most dilapidated 
condition. With fast beating hearts they approached the house, 
deciding that somebody lived there, from the decoration of red 
pepper which hung by the door and the water pail and crooked 
handled gourd. Just as they were about to enter the gateway, 
the gate of which swung upon one broken hinge and had long since 
ceased to perform the office of a gate, a fiercely barking dog of most 
villainous appearance sprang up and seemed to defy them to ad- 
vance a step nearer. To be contimtcd 

MR. E. Jl. jorda:?^. 


Weighs And 

Measures Articles As Accurately As a Per- 
son With Sight. 


Buchanan, Mich., June 20. — This town has one business man 
who is a very interesting chacrater, in the person of E. A. Jordan, 
the bhnd groceryman. Jordan was born in Charlotte, Mich., Nov. 
3, 1862, and came to Buchanan with his parents when one year old. 
When about 1 7 years old he met with an accident which took from 
him the most precious of the senses — his sight. 

He was grinding a tool on an emery wheel when a piece of steel 
flew, striking his eye and becoming embedded there. It was re- 
moved by local physicians, but both eyes became inflamed and he 
went to the Ann Arbor for treatment. An operation was per- 
formed, but his sight was gone. 

Nothing daunted, he went to the school for the blind at Lan- 
sing, remaining three years, taking a literary course. He learned 
to read and write what is known as the New York point system ; 
he owns a typewriter and can operate it fully as well as many who 


use the machine by the aid of both eyes. About five years ago he 
started a grocery, which he is now conducting. 

Mr. Jordan attends to the wants of his customers himself, 
weighing the goods and making the change. There is perhaps no 
article in his whole stock that he cannot get, and there is not a 
piece of coin which he cannot tell. 

For some time Mr. Jordan has been studying on a scheme for 
preparing a roof enamel that would revolutionize roof-making, 
and he is now beginning to realize the fruits of his labors. Last 
winter he organized the Jordan Roof and Enamel Co., and is meet- 
ing with marked success. He has a factory here that has a dailv out 
put of 1,200 gallons of enamel per day, and has 10 agents on the 
road selling the goods. He is planning on manufacturing water- 
proof horse blankets, storm aprons, overcoats and overalls that 
will be soft and pliable. Besides the above, Mr. Jordan expects, 
in tne near future, to begin the manufacture of three kinds of felt 
roofing, one of which, he says, will be fire-proof, and has the speci- 
fications for a machine that will turn out a square per minute. 

A Born Editor. 

A certain editor had cause to admonish his son on account of 
his disinclination to attend school. "You must go to school 
regularly, my boy," said the fond parent, "or you can never be a 
great man, you know." 

"Like you, father?" asked the child, simply. 

"Er — yes, my boy. If you don't learn to read and write 
and so on you can never — er — wield the pen that is mightier than 
the sword. You can never be an editor. What would you do, 
for instance, if your paper came out full of mistakes?" 

The boy looked up into his parent's face with childlike inno- 
cence. "Father," he said, solemnly, "I'd blame 'em on the printer.' 

And then that editor fell upon his son's neck and wept tears 
of joy — for he knew he had a successor for the editorial chair! 

— TJie Scribbler. 

"Didn't you steal the complainant's coat?" asked the magis- 
trate of a seedy individual who was arraigned before him. 

"I decline to gratify the morbid curiosity of the public by 
answering that question," responded the seedy individual, with a 
scornful glance at the reporters. 

— The Judge. 

N^ ^yilV^: Fair in Lowe ! ^ 

They were standing together on the cliff road that winds round 
Onchan Head, the girl gazing across the moonlit sea, the man with 
his back to the railings, contemplatively puffing at his cigar. 
To the right swept in a fairy crescent as far as the distant pier the 
twinkling lights of Douglas promenade, and from across the bay, 
came, intermittently, the golden stream from the light-house, six 
times repeated, then elipsed for fifteen seconds. Flashing across 
the rippling water it revealed the wave-scoured Tower of Refuge, 
the Empress Queen lying off for the night, and brought out of the 
shadow the detail of the beetling cliff beyond. From the band- 
stand on the promenade the subdued strains of a waltz were wafted 
up on the summer breeze. 

Both time and space conspired to throw over the mundane 
the glamour of romance and fill the souls of such as they with 
thoughts poetic, longings indefinable. The magnetic influence of 
the girl's trim waist drew the man's arm nearer until it actually 
touched her; then, with a heavy sigh, he jerked it back and thrust 
it into his jacket pocket. 

"Oh, Phil," cried the girl, "isn't this just lovely after the 
dreary sameness of the smoky town that seems now so far away?" 

"It's be — yeautiful!" agreed Phil, dolefully. "Meg, if this 
dream could but last — if there were no beastly ogre in the shape 
of an obdurate, flinty-hearted father! For two blessed pins, I'd 
walk down now and tackle him again. He's got to cotton sooner 
or later. Hang it! we're not children. I'm about desperate.!" 

The girl looked up into his set face, and without a word she 
fumbled in her lace collar and held out to him the needful pins. 
The man gazed at them blankly, then burst into an involuntary 

"Meg, you're a peach!" he cried. "But, blow it all! how can 
I? You should have seen his face when I tackled him six months 
ago. 'Pooh! pooh!' he spluttered. 'Secretary — beggarly two 
hundred — wants to marry my daughter. What next? Why, you 
young juggins, she gets through that much in pin-money herself. 
Gad! sir, I little thought when I introduced you to the bosom of 
my family I was nursing a viper. Put it out of your head at once. 


Stick to your desk and marry in your own station. Don't tell 
me she's fond of you, and all that balderdash. I know better. 
She's got far too much sense!' I tell you, Meg, for all my 6ft. 2in. 
he towered above me. I never got a chance. He's a terror. If 
he knew I'd been meeting you here clandestinely for the past week 
there'd be no end of a flare-up!" 

"Dad is a bit peppery," said the girl. 

"Peppery? By George, he's wicked!" said Phil, lugubriously. 
"I'd nerved myself to grapple with any possible objections he might 
urge and shatter them with the arguments my burning determina- 
tion prompted, but he knocked me off my feet at the first volley. 
I'm absolutely convinced, Meg, that unless Providence helps we'll 
never get his consent. If only some fortuitous opportunity might 
arise to render him under an obligation to me! But, hang it! it 
isn't likely. Can't you contrive to cajole him out into a small 
boat and upset it when I'm handy?" 

"No, I'm afraid that won't do," said the girl, smiling. "He 
wouldn't venture in one of those 'cockle-shells,' as he calls them, 
for anybody or anything. ' You know how methodical he is in 
business. Well, he works his holiday, too, on the time-table plan. 
Five o'clock every morning he's up and out for a dip, before other 
people have dirtied the wtaer,' he says. After breakfast he hales 
me with him on the planned excursion for the day. We dine at 
six, and after dinner he disappears with his newspaper to the little 
secluded cove, far from the maddening crowd, where, unobserved, 
we saw him just now. He stays there generally until, like a 
modern Canute, he is forced by the tide to leave. A turn at the 
billiard-table, if anybody can be found willing to play him, and 
so to bed, 10.30 prompt. He wonders why I prefer the drawing- 
room to the cove, and laughs at the idea that he has tired me with 
the day's excursion." 

"He wouldn't laugh if he knew you preferred some other cove, 
I fancy," said Phil. "I suppose he's in the billiard-room now. 
Do you think I should catch him? It's turned nine." 

"Ye — es, he'll be there," said Meg, turning her head. "Oh, 
my goodness, no! Here he is!" 

Her companion swung round like a man shot, and the old 
gentleman, but a few paces away, recognized him on the instant. 
Stopping dead, he stared for a spell astounded. Then, with lips 
set tight and sudden death in his eyes, he marched forward and 
confronted them. 


"Fuller!" he ejaculated, hoarsely. "You — you jackanapes!" 

"It's a lovely evening," stammered Phil, weakly. "I trust, 
sir, you are enjoying the salubriosity. You see, I happened to 
meet Meg — er — Miss Lisle, your daughter, and — and " 

"What business had you to force your confounded company 
on my daughter?" spluttered Ephraim Lisle. "What business 
have you here at all?" 

"I am taking my customary vacation, as I believe you are 
aware," returned Phil, recovering his equanimity with an effort. 
"I scarcely hoped for the pleasure of meeting you on the island." 

"I thought I made it clear that your attentions were unwel- 
come," blustered Ephraim, striking the ground with his stick. 
"I imagined that you were a gentleman. As you have proved 
yourself to be a man without sense of honor I will make it my bus- 
iness to show you that you have defied the wrong party. Meg!" 

"Sir," said Phil, glaring down at him, "you are grossly un- 

"Meg," said the irascible old gentleman, brushing him aside, 
"if this presumptuous nincompoop pesters you again, I charge you 
call a policeman and give him into custody. Come!" 

The face of the young man flushed and he clenched his hands. 
The girl cast a despairing look at him as her father, without further 
ado, seized her arm and hurried her away. Hat in hand he stood 
looking after them until the sound of the old man's rating died 
away, and then he burst into a bitter laugh and strode up the road. 

"The worm is squelched!" he cried, tragically. "Phew! but 
he's a crusher! What a jelHfied ass Meg must have thought me! 
Aad yet, my conscience! what could I do? A fellow can't tweak 
his principal's nose and keep his billet. If Providence would only 
smile " 

He turned off at on opening in the railings, and, indifferent as to 
where his footsteps trended, descended the steps in the cliff side 
which led to the deserted beach. Railing at the perversity of fate 
he trudged over the shingle and, dodging between the scattered 
boulders, turned the jutting point that went to form the cove 

"This is the place where the old curmudgeon comes to think 
on his sins! " he muttered. 

The sea was even then spraying against the base of the en- 
closing rocks. As he peered at the cliff face, and realized that at 
full tide the cove would be completely cut off, he laughed at the 


idea of the portly gentleman being suddenly awakened from a doze 
by the encroaching sea to find himself trapped. 

Turning, he retraced his steps, to be presently brought up 
standing as a brilliant thought occurred to him. 

"The very ticket!" he cried, excitedly. "Ephraim cut off 
by the tide. Gallant rescue b)^ the intrepid hero. Glorification 
in the 'Isle of Man Times,' Eternal gratitude. Take her and 
be happy. Wedding bells. By Christopher Columbus — be still, 
my beating heart! I'll have a look round here to-morrow morning 
early. If it can only be worked! Let me think. Though there 
won't be more than six feet of water, he won't know it, and it's 
a pound to a pebble he can't swim. Get him to swallow a mild 
soporific in his dinner beer. Yes, that's it. I guess Meg would 
co-operate when she knew there was no danger. Talk about a 
three-penny thriller! I'll make him m.ighty glad of my confounded 
company, or I'm a — a nincompoop!" 

Meg Lisle was putting the finishing touches to her toilette in 
her room, preparatory to going down to dinner, the following day 
when the rosy-faced housemaid knocked at the door and, with a 
roguish smile, thrust a letter into her hand. 

Recognizing the writing, the blushing girl tore it open and 
rapidly acquainted herself with its contents. 

"Dearest," it ran, "if you love me, contrive to insinuate the 
enclosed powder in your father's dinner wnne this night. It is a 
perfectly harmless but exceedingly potent spell which will sweep 
away all his objections to our bethrothal, even as the glorious sun 
dissolves the clouds. Providence has revealed the way. Fail not 
and all will be well. Burn this. — Phil." 

I The girl read this strange missive a second and third time, 
and on opening the enclosed packet discovered a modicum of some 
white, innocent looking powder. She regarded it curiously and 
turned to the letter again. 

" I wonder if it will give him much pain?" she mused. " But, 
no; "he says it is perfectly harmless, and he would never have asked 
me without the strongest of reasons. I will do it." 

She kissed the letter and thrust it into the flame of the gas. 
Then, with her customary smile, she went down. She found her 
father in an unusually jovial mood. 

"Meg, I'm going to take you along with me to the cove to-night," 


he said, between the fish and the cut from the joint. "You can 
bring a book." 

"Oh, I'd rather not, if you don't mind, father," she said, with 
just the suggestion of a blush. "The jaunt round Snaefell has 
made me tired. I have several letters to write." 

He regarded her with a suspicious look on his ruddy face, 
and snapped, "I know those letters; they can wait." 

"Father," she cried, "I guess what you're thinking. But I 
give 3^ou my word that I will call a policeman if Mr. Fuller dares 
to address me again until you have given your sanction." 

"That's settled it, then," said Ephraim, with the air of a man 
who has conquered. "I'm glad you've taken the sensible view." 
He turned to joke with the Scotch lady on his left, and while his 
attention was occupied the girl took occasion to fill his half-em- 
ptied glass from the opened bottle. 

"Poor old daddy!" she thought, as she saw him jocularly 
pledge the lady "fra Glesga" a moment or two later. 

Dinner over he took up his "Times" and, with a parting ad- 
monition, sought his customary haven. 

"The lad's all right," he mused, as he settled himself com- 
fortably with his back to a boulder. "Comes of good family and 
is undoubtedly up to snuff . But poor — nothing behind him — ouh, 
ah-ah — no — ah-h — expectations. I want the — ah-h — girl to do 
better, and — ouh, ah-h. By Jove! what makes me yawn so? 
Must be the sea air. Let's see — ah-h-h-h — whether there's any 
more of this passive resistah-h-h-h-ance business. I do feel drowsy. 
The murmur of the restless — ouh, ah-h-h-sea — seems to have a 
decided somnific effect. Mustn't go to slee-eep he-ere. Well — ah- 
h-h-h — well- " Ten minutes later, willy-nilly, he was sleeping 

the sleep of the drugged. 

Slowly, foot by foot, the sea rolled in. Almost imperceptibly 
the evenings shadows fell. The last of the lingering "spooners" 
had wended their upward way from the beach, but still the old 
gentleman snored, sublimely unconscious. 

Up on the drive Phil Fuller leaned against the railings which 
girded the clifE verge and, as the flash from the lighthouse swept ever 
and anon across his face, the passers-by could see that he was smil- 
ing. That morning he had satisfied himself that it was impossible 
for any man to climb the cliff. To within three or four yards from 
the top in the daylight a man might achieve, but upv/ard from 
that was a layer of treacherous rubble which came away at a touch 
and afforded no hold. 


For a time he had been nonplussed at the discovery, which 
apparently effectually thwarted his plans. Disgusted at his ill- 
luck he had determined to relinquish the idea, when by chance, as 
he strode along the road, a prosaic incident renewed his hopes. 
In the ground of the great hotel which crow.ned the headline he 
perceived a laundrymaid hanging out the washing, and he laughed 
at the thought that the thing might yet be accomplished with the 
necessary eclat. A picture he had seen in a magazine, of an egg- 
gatherer, suspended by a rope, collecting eggs from the cliff face, 
recurred to his memory, and he determined, if his plans for the 
trapping of his intended father-in-law succeeded, he would com- 
mandeer that clothes line. 

Nine o'clock had struck, and the waves were swirling round 
the base of the jutting rocks and lapping into the cove. And still 
Ephraim slept! Five, ten, fifteen minutes elapsed, until the break- 
ers, spraying over the boulder behind which he lay, woke him to 
sudden consciousness. 

With a cry of alarm he started up, and, as he saw the hungry 
Irish Sea creeping up to lick him into its clutches, and the knowl- 
edge that all escape was cut off came to him, he backed against the 
cliff and set up a succession of lusty howls, which frightened the 
sea-birds from their nocturnal roosts. 

"Oh, my life," he groaned between his yells, "what shall I do?" 

Maddened with fear he endeavored in the gloom to find some 
cleft in the sheer face by which he might climb. But it was futile. 
He struck a dozen matches, and immediately the playful wind ex- 
tinguished them. 

"Help!" he yelled, frantically, again and again. But only 
the echoes mocked him. A breaker swept over his boots and he 
shrieked like a madman. From above came a long-drawn "Hal — 

He heard it and gave an answering yell. 

Phil, leaning over the edge, endeavored to peer down. A 
couple stayed in their walk and regarded him interestedly. 

"By George!" he cried, as the yell floated up, "I believe 
someone is caught down there by the tide." 

Springing to his feet, he vaulted the railings and sprinted to 
the hotel. Dashing through the hall he confronted the manager. 

"A rope!" he yelled. "I want a rope! Someone is trapped in 
the cove! " 

The manager stared at him dumfounded, incapable of action. 


Don't stand staring there, man!" he panted. "It's a matter 
of life or death. Give me a rope — a clothes-line 'will do; all the 
length you have." 

In a few seconds the line was cut down. Racing back he pushed 
through the crowd and knotted the lengths together. Tear- 
ing off his coat he secured the line under his arms and clambered over 
the railings. 

"I'm going down," he cried dramatically, to the gaping crowd. 
"Take a couple of turns round that rail, and when I tell you slack 
out gently." 

Willing hands seized the rope, and grasping it, he let himself 
over the edge. 

Steadying himself from swinging round as well as possible 
with his free hand, he dropped slowly down and reached the beach 
without a mishap. Ephraim, nigh frantic with terror, staggered 
to his side and threw his arms about him. 

"Thank Heaven!" he cried, fervently. " Thank Heaven ! " 

"Why, bless my life!" exclaimed the rescuer, surprisedly. 
It's you, sir! Well, I'm jiggered!" 

"Phil!" screeched the old man. "Phil!" 

"What in wonder brings you down here?" jerked out the 
young man. "Why didn't you vamoose before the water cut 
you off ? " 

"I went to sleep," moaned Ephraim, helplessly. "Don't 
waste time. Get me out of this, for pity's sake." 

"Can't you swim?" asked Phil, shortly. 

"Not a stroke," cried the old gentleman. 

"Well, I'm afraid the risk's a bit too great to send you up on 
this line," said Phil, coolly. "You see, it's probably frayed by 
my descent, and you're a good sixteen stone. I shouldn't like 
you to come down a bump from about half-way up." 

"No good half-doing it," he said, sotto voice. 

" Good lord, no! " wailed Ephraim. "What's to be done?" 

"You'll have to trust yourself with me in the water," said 
Phil. "Once round that rock and we're safe. If you do as I tell 
you, there's absolutely no danger." 

"Anything, my boy, anything," cried Ephraim. "Only get 
me out." 

"Take your clothes off, then, and I'll send them up. It'll 
save 'em from getting wet," said Phil. 

Ephraim undressed to his underwear with feverish haste. 


Phil, ver}^ leisurely, did likewise. Attaching the bundles to the 
line, he yelled to the men above to haul up. 

• "Now!" he said. "I take you under the arms — so. AA^alk 
forward, Go on; don't be a coward. If you struggle, I w^arn you 
I'll have to clump you on the head." 

Rushing the trembling old gentleman into the water, he struck 
out, and after a seemingly tremendous struggle, just added for 
effect, succeeded in rounding the rock. The rest was comparatively 
easy, and presently they both stood dripping on the beach, breath- 
less, but unscathed. Taking him by the hand, the gallant rescuer 
led the speechless rescued over the shingle and up the steps to the 

An hour later, clothed and feeling little the worse for their ad- 
venture, they came out arm-in-arm. 

"You make too much of it, really," said Phil, modestly. 

"Philip," said the old gentleman, feelingly, "you're a splendid 
fellow. I did 3'ou gross injustice in calling you a nincompoop. 
I always liked you at the bottom of my heart. Will you come down 
and let Meg thank you?" 

"I will," said Phil, smiHng. — The Mirror. 

What's the Use; 

Men are apt to fret and worr}^ 

But what's the use? 
When too late the}^ always hurry, 

But what's the use? 
Just to keep business boomin', 
Men do lots of things inhuman — 
Even argue with a woman; 

But what's the use? 

— Frisco Magazine. 

Too Late. 

Bloom. — "I'm glad I met your wife. She seemed to take a 
fancy to me." 

Pecqiie. — "Did she? I wish you'd met her sooner." 

— The Benedict. 

The Lowest rorm of Litera ry Achievement. 

Michael MacDonagh has collected some interesting informa- 
tion about those modern "ballads of the people," the songs of the 
London music-halls. Of these songs, he tells us, such as catch the 
fancy of the audience are soon carried, through the agencies of the 
provincial music-halls, the itinerant organ-grinders, and the print- 
ing-press, to the remotest corners of the kingdom; and he finds that 
it is unhappily impossible to deny that these ballads, with their 
"low humor and vulgarity, their mawkish sentimentality, their 
tawdry patriotism," stir the great heart of the people when songs 
of a better class would leave them cold. Regarding the origin of 
these popular effusions, which he characterizes as "perhaps the 
lowest form of literary achievement of the age," Mr. MacDonagh 
(in The Nineteenth Ccntv.ry for September) writes: 

"The most successful wooers of the music-hall muse, in the 
production at least of low-comedy songs, are men sprung from the 
very humblest classes, poorly edticated and frequently almost 
illiterate, but with some natural talent and powers of observation, 
and practical experience of the habits, customs, and modes of 
thought of the lower orders in large towns and cities. Their ^ongs 
and 'patter,' ungrammatical and ill-spelt as they may be, when 
presented by the vocalists who are to sing them in 'the halls' con- 
tain gleams of vulgar comedy, which are hugely appreciated by 
the people, while the refined lays of cultivated writers, more subtle 
in their humor and less faulty in their meter and rhyme, but lack- 
ing the note of reality, fall, as a rule, utterly fiat." 

But to be coarse and tawdry is not always enough to insure 
popularity for a music-hall song. According to Mr. MacDonagh, 
the taste of the people is governed by influences which have not yet 
been accurately formulated. "Nobody can tell when a song is 
going to make a hit; the theme, the air, the occasion, the author, 
the composer, the vocalist, afford no clue. The public are guided 
by no rule in the selection of their favorite ballads." Of the 
manner in which these songs spread among the masses we read : 

"They are first printed on slips of paper of the most vivid 
color and sold at twenty or two dozen a penny by hawkers to the 
crowds waiting outside the cheap parts of the music-halls for the 
opening of the doors. Subsequently, collections of the most popu- 
lar of them are brought out in sheets, which are sold at a penny 


also. Both the sheets and the shps have an immense circulation. 
Thus the people obtain the words of the latest music-hall songs; 
and the airs they pick up in the music-halls or from the barrel- 
organs in the streets. The life of a popular music-hall song is 
fleeting, but not more so, perhaps, than a popular novel. For a 
few months it is sung by the people in their homics and at their 
outings on holidays. Its air is the favorite melody of every barrel- 
organ in the kingdom. Long before its words and its music have 
lost their fascination for the working classes they become a terrible 
infliction to the general public. In time, however, the song be- 
comes, from repetition, a sheer horror, even to those who on its 
flrst appearance fell most completely under its sway. Indeed, a 
stage of aversion so acute is reached that a street gamin would 
run the risk of being murdered if he were to whistle a bar, or sing a 
stave, of a music-hall song which a few months before made every 
heart throb with excitement. 

"But while their vogue lasts, the lines of these music-hall songs 
are familiar on a million lips. In this respect at least the unread 
poets of the intellectual classes might well be envious of these 
humble wooers of the music-hall muses." 

The vast bulk of these "ballads of the people," we are further 
told, are produced by men who are not professional song-writers, 
but "laborers, artisans, tradesmen, literary amateurs, journalists, 
actors, music-hall artists." But it is a notable circumstance, says 
Mr. MacDonagh, that in this branch of song-writing no woman finds 
a place. Among hundreds of these songs, he has not found one 
that was written by a woman. 

A Charming Way. 

My sweetheart has the loveliest ways 

Of being kind! Her tender smile 
Matches her yearning, earnest gaze; 

Her whisper is enough to while 
A saint or hermit ... In amaze 

I contemplate her charms — but, then. 
My sweetheart has the loveliest ways 

Of being kind — to other men! 
* * * 

— TJic Lover. 

An All l^dil Trip to Europe. 

Shall we ever travel from New York to Paris in a Pullman? 
The idea of a railroad from America to Europe, via Bering Strait, 
is by no means a new one; but until recently it has been looked 
upon as chimerical in the last degree. Now, however, several 
things have happened to make it less so. The Russian railway 
system has actually been pushed forward to the Pacific, while we 
have built lines in Alaska. Success in long-distance tunneling has 
made the project of a tunnel under Bering Strait not unreasonable. 
A rail trip by such a route would be long and tiresome, and the road 
would probably be used not so much for through travel as for the 
development of the regions through which it would pass. At any 
rate, it is taken seriously by the Revue Scientifique, in which it is 
described as follows: 

"The project appears to be taking shape to judge from recent 
news [on the subject]. It has been set on foot by Americans, and 
the syndicate that has it in charge has recently applied to the Rus- 
sian Government for the privilege of constructing the Asiatic part 
of the line, extending from Vladivostock to Cape Nanaimo. In 
return for this concession the syndicate proposes to furnish the 
funds, build the road, and run it for a certain number of years, then 
selling it to the Russian Government at a price dependent on the 
net cost, increased by lo per cent., for each year. The syndicate 
will also obtain farming land and mining concessions. 

"The project includes the construction of a line connecting 
Vladivostock with Cape Nanaimo, on Bering Strait, and finally 
the connection of the American end of its tunnel with the Canadian 
lines by a road through Alaska. Thus a continuous line of railway 
would join the whole of Europe, from Calais to Constantinople, 
and a large part of Asia, to the entire North American continent. 
The most interesting part of the work would evidently be the con- 
struction of the submarine tunnel under Bering Strait. This is 
not of great width. It is narrower than the Channel from Calais 
and Dover, and there are two islands in the middle. The tunnel 
could thus be built in two sections, and it is proposed to drive it 
by means of tubes. ... It has even been proposed to build a 
bridge across the strait, but the current is too powerful and the 
push of the ice too great toward the close of the winter for such a 


project to succeed. There will be no serious difficulties in the con- 
struction of the Asiatic line, nor of the American, in Alaska and 
the Yukon region. 

"We must not believe, of course, that the American syndicate 
is moved by humanitarianism or scientific enthusiasm. 
The plan naturally is a question of money — the development of 
Siberia and Alaska. Siberia is one of the most fertile countries on 
the globe, capable of giving immense returns to agriculture and 
stock-raising. It also has great mineral wealth. The same is true 
of Alaska, where agriculture may be greatly developed. Alaska 
is popularly regarded as a land of ice. So it is in winter, but in 
summer . . . fruits and vegetables grow abundantly." — 
Translation made for The Literary Digest. 

Two Rivers, Boxing a Railroad. 

The river Rhone, near Brig, in Switzerland, and the river 
Direnia, in Italy, are boring a railroad tunnel, talked of for the past 
forty years, making a direct connection under the mountains of 
Switzerland with Italy. This tunnel will be twelve miles in 
length, and therefore larger by several miles than any other tunnel 
in the world through which locomotives draw trains. 

It is called the Simplon tunnel, because it is under the Simplon 
pass, made famous by Napoleon. 

These two rivers, harnessed to electric inachinery, furnish 
4,180 horse-power, and the contractors have been allowed eight 
years in which to finish the job, five years of which have already 
expired, so that the tunnel must be finished in 1906. 


Gentleman. — (to man on horesback) : "Why, my man, how 
do you expect to get that horse along with a spur on one side only ? " 

Horseman. — "Well, sir, if I gets that 'ere side to go, ain't the 
other bound to keep up?" 


Terry was one of the most enticing little dogs that ever lived, 
and one of the most intelligent; and besides all of his charming 
qualities he was a dog of very high degree indeed, a dachshund of 
blood and breeding not to be excelled in all London. 

He was seldom ill or out of sorts, but once he stepped on a 
bit of broken glass and cut his foot when he was out walking with 
his mistress; the paw swelled up, and he evidently suffered so much 
with it that his master took him to the most skilled dog doctor in 
all London. 

After looking at it very carefully the doctor said that he must 
lance it, or that Terry would surely have blood poisoning and 
might die. So it was lanced, and he bore it like the hero he was, 
and when it was all over and the pain of the cutting was relieved 
he licked the hand that had hurt him. He seemed to understand 
that it had been done for his good, and so it proved, for in a little- 
while Terry was quite well again. 

About two years later Terry appeared out of his basket one 
morning with a badly swollen face, which he would not allow any- 
one to touch, and he ran away and hid if anyone came near him. 
So it went on for two days. He could not eat and did not seem to 
sleep, and then one morning at breakfast time Terry could not be 
found anywhere. The servants had not seen him since the night 
before, and his master and mistress were sadly distressed. After 
looking everywhere, they were just about to advertise and offer a 
reward, when his mistress walked into the drawing-room and there 
lay Terry — the lost one — peacefully asleep on her best sofa. ' ' Terry 
— Terry — where did you come from?" said his mistress, scarcely 
able to believe her eyes — and as soon as his name was spoken down 
he jumped and ran to her, wagging his tail and seemingly so pleased 
to see her. "Where have you been, Terry?" she said, but he only 
wagged his tail harder than ever. 

"Why," she said, looking him over, "the swelling in his face 
is almost gone, he must be better;" and it surely was so, for he ate 
such a dinner, and then went to sleep again — in his basket that 


"Now wasn't Terry clever," said his mistress, "he just ran 
away and hid until he felt better and then he came out again." 

"That shows," said his master, "that the old theory that 
animals hide away in a wild state when they are in pain is true. 
The old instinct holds good after years and years of education. " 

About a week afterward, when Terry was out walking with his 
master, the doctor to whom he had been taken when he had the 
swollen foot met them. 

"Ah!" he said to Terry's master, "I see that your dog is all 
right since I took his tooth out." 

"Tooth? What tooth? I know nothing about it — when did 
you take it out?" 

"A few days ago. I am not sure of the day now; I can find it 
in my notebook, though. Didn't you send him to me?" asked the 
doctor, puzzled in his turn. 

"No, we missed him one day," and he named the day; "it 
was about a week ago, and he suddenly appeared again in the 

"Strange," said the doctor. "One morning last week when 
my man opened the front door Terry stood there as if waiting to 
come in. It was early in the morning when the door was first 
opened, and as soon as he got in the house he ran directly to my 
office chair, and there I found him when I come down. I sup- 
posed that your man brought him to me. 

"I saw that he was in pain, and examined his mouth, and 
took out a tooth that had made all the trouble. I kept him until 
I was ready to go out in the afternoon, and as no one came for him, 
which I thought rather strange, I left him at the door. When I 
went home my man told me that the dog had been at the door 
when he opened it, and I meant to have sent you word about it 
and ask an explanation, but I forgot it." 

Terry's master whistled softly. "Well! That explains his 
mysterious disappearance, and if Terry isn't the very cleverest dog 
in all England I am mistaken. He must have remembered how 
you helped him before, and just took matters into his own hands, 
or, rather, into his brains, and went to you to be taken care of. It 
is the most astonishing thing that I ever heard of." 

"Yes," said the doctor, "and he looked at me so beseech- 
ingly w^'hen I went into the room, and seemed very grateful when 
I took the tooth out, for first he licked my hands, and then he 
jumped all over me." 


"I remember now," said the master, "that I said to my wife 
the very evening he disappeared, when he was lying in the basket 
inlthe room, that I should have to take him to you the next morn- 
ing, if he was no better then. He must have heard what I said and 
gone himself. I suppose he slipped out early in the morning when 
the man opened the door. That must have been the way of it." — 
Our Animal Friends. 

A Word to Conjare With. 

The field-day of the rival women's colleges was in progress 
and competition ran high. The score was close, with the high 
jump in progress. Suddenly a wild cheer broke forth from the 
wearers of the baby-blue. Miss Tessie Thistledown had just 
cleared the^bar in the running high jump with a record of four feet 
and three inches! 

A moment later the tall, blonde captain of the rival team 
tapped the'spectacled referee on her shirt -waisted arm. 

"I claim a foul," she said. 

"On what ground?" inquired the official. 

"On the ground that just before this girl reached the bar 
somebody in the crowd shouted 'Mouse,' and then she jumped and 
broke the record." 

"I did not hear the remark," said the bloomered referee. 

"If I had I would have jumped mvself." 

— Tlie Spectator. 

Not his Fatjit; 

A youngster was holding a horse's head whilst a blacksmith 
was shoeing the animal. The horse, being a young one and restless, 
did not seem to enjoy the process and plunged occasionally. The 
smith who was putting on a hind shoe, getting impatient, requested 
the boy to keep the horse quiet, whereupon the youngster replied: 

"My end is quiet enough, guv'nor; see to yours." 

TJic Kidder. 


H was the far-famed labor man 
Whose twelve accomplishments 

Have made his name proverbial 
And shown his strength immense. 

I was a woman laborer 

Whose wealth and gen'rous zeal 

Made possible a famous trip 
A country to reveal. 

J was a soldier-woman brave 
Who gave her king a throne, 

Whose fearlessness is always sung 
Where'er brave deeds are known. 

K's three great laws have set his, name 
Among the world's great stars. 

His observations formed a book 
About the planet Mars. 

L worked in the religious world 
And helped the people read 

Whate'er within the Holy Book 
They fouud to suit their need. 

M was a poet wise and grand; 

But he, alas! was blind; 
And those who should have aided him 

Were often most unkind. 

A Happy Reply. 

"Can you tell me what sort of weather we may expect next 
month?" wrote a subscriber to the editor of a^countryjDaper, and 
the editor replied as follows : — 

" It is my belief that the weather next month will be very much 
like your subscription." 

The inquirer wondered for an hour what the editor was driv- 
ing at, when he happened to think of the word "unsettled." He 
sent in the required amount next day. 

"* — TJie Editor. 


A Parable With A Purpose. 

Before the collection was taken up at a negro place of wor- 
ship recently, the minister, announced that he regretted to state 
a certain brother had retired to rest the night before without lock- 
ing the door of his fowl -house, to find in the morning that all his 
chickens had vanished. 

"I don't want to be personal," he continued, "but I hab my 
suspicions as to who stole dem chickens. If I'm right in dose sus- 
picions, dat man won't put any money in de box which will now 
be passed around." 

There was a grand collection, not a single member of the con- 
gregation feigning sleep. 

"Now, bredren," announced the minister, "I don't want all 
yoah dinners spilt by wondering where dat brer lives who 
don't lock chickens up at night. Dat brer don't exist, mah 
friends; he was a parable foh purposes ob finance." 

The Model Boy. 

I know a well-bred little boy who never says "I can't"; 

He never says "Don't want to," or "You've got to," or "You 

He never says "I'll tell mamma!" or calls his playmates "mean." 
A lad more careful of his speech I'm sure was never seen! 
He's never ungrammatical — he never mentions "aint"; 
A single word of slang from him would make his mother faint. 
And now I'll tell you why it is (lest this should seem absurd) : 
He's now exactly six months old and cannot speak a word! 

Different Ways. 

"My friend's wife!" And the German sighs sentimentally, 
gazes longingly and passes by on the other side. 

"My friend's wife!" And the Englishman looks adoration, 
squeezes her hand, talks about a blighted life, and— marries the 
season's debutante. 

"My friend's wife!" And the Frenchman looks unutterable 
things, whispers daringly and dreams of conquest. 

"My friend's wife!" And the American beams admiration, 
talks about his friend — her husband — and congratulates himself 
on his discretion. 

^ 'Public Opinion, ^ 


Senators Hanna and Foraker have set the poHtical ball rolling, 
and. sounded the tocsin for the next Presidential election. The 
perioration of Mr. Hanna's speech was as follows: 

" The whole countr}^ has its eyes upon Ohio, knowing that this 
is the skirmish battle for 1904, and I join with Senator Foraker in 
making the appeal to our people under these circumstances to send 
a word of greeting and confidence to the young President at Wash- 
ington and let him know that Ohio never falters in the right, and 
will not this time, and that we will lead in the campaign of 1904." 

Strenuous efforts are being made to establish the "gold 
standard" in China, Mexico, and other countries, so as to make 
exchange in settling commercial transactions more certain and 

If the American, English, German, and French merchants 
and manufacturers can know with certainty how much gold they 
can realize from the silver money they are now obliged to accept 
in exchange for their commodities, commercial transactions will 
be greatly sympathized and facilitated. 

The Tj^pographical Union has decided to lock horns with the 

Organized labor, like the infant Hercules, is beginning to feel 
and understand its power as a political factor, and there are many 
leading spirits who, for some time, have been hoping for an oppor- 
tunity in which to display its strength. But it cannot afford in its 
first trial to make a mistake and outrage public opinion by placing 
loyalty to the Union above lo3^alty to country and obedience to 
the will of the nation, as expressed by law. 

It had better take David Crocket's advice, " be sure 3^ou're 
right, then go ahead." 

Exports from the Transvaal during the first half of 1903 
amounted to ;)^5,7oS,5i5, as against :^2, 852,043 in the corres- 
ponding period of 1902. 


Diplomatic circles in London do not now regard war between 
Bulgaria and Turkey as imminent. The Balkan situation has 
been left in the hands of Russia and Austria to deal with, but so 
far no plan has been devised by the Powers to restore order. A 
general rising was planned to occur in Eastern Macedonia, where 
the insurgents are fully prepared to begin fighting. A number of 
battles are reported between Turks and Revolutionists, 

AVonder if Peary will find the north pole before Lipton lifts 
the cup! — Baltimore American. 

Aguinaldo has dropped revolutionizing and embarked in rail- 
roading, which is pretty nearly as profitable and not half as dan- 
gerous. — Newark Nc-il^s. 

Women have had the prominent part in discovering radium 
and showing its properties. Madame Curie, who discovered this 
most "wonderful substance in the world," did so not by accident, 
but as a result of deductive reasoning. Other women who have 
made important contributions to our knowledge of radium are 
Lady Huggins, wife of the president of the Royal Society, and Miss 
Wilcock, of Newnham College, Cambridge. 

The Hunearians are tiring of Austria and want a divorce. 

Venezuela shows unwillingness to abide by the decisions of 
the court of arbitration, and is acting like the child-nation that 
she is. We fear she will yet have to take a sound thrashing to 
brine her to her senses. 

Russia offers to give up the shell if she can retain the meat of 
the Manchurian nut she has cracked. 

Columbian law-makers have cried check in the little game of 
chess that country is playing with Uncle Sam over the Panama 
canal. It looks as though the Nicaragua route may yet have a 


A great many men, along in their forties, have had the great 
pleasure of listening to the silver-tongued eloquence of Wendell 
Phillips, who after the Civil War was one of the most popular 
Ivceum orators in the countrv. It will be remembered that in 


his charming lecture on "The Lost Arts" he was inchned to humble 
our pride by telling us that our boasted modern inventions had 
been anticipated thousands of years ago. Egypt was usually the 
historical source of his claims. 

Mr. Phillips looked not only back but forward, and on one 
occasion at least, according to the Boston Herald, foretold what 
was coming. He predicted wireless telegraphy. The Herald 
describes the incident as follows: 


"On July 23, 1865, he made an address to the schoolboys of 
Boston, gathered in Music Hall. He exhorted them to toil earn- 
estly to improve on what had been done before and not to forget 
that they were heirs of a noble heritage. ' Remember, boys, 
what fame it is that you bear up — this old name of Boston! ' After 
briefly setting forth some of the historical glories of Boston, he 
said: 'Now, boys, this is my lesson to you to-day. You cannot 
be as good as your fathers unless you are better. You have your 
fathers' example — the opportunities and advantages they have 
accumulated — and to be only as good is not enough. You must 
be better. You must copy only the spirit of your fathers, and not 
their imperfections.' Then he told the story of the Boston mer- 
chant who sent a cracked plate instead of a perfect one to China, 
to have a new set made of the same pattern and when the set came 
every plate had a crack in it like the sample. Continuing, he said: 
'Now, boys, do not ihiitate us. Be better than we are or there 
will be a great many cracks. We have invented a telegraph, but 
what of that? I expect, if I live forty years, to see a telegraph 
that will send messages without wire, both ways at the same time!' 
Phillips did not live forty years longer. He died when the time 
mentioned had only half elapsed. That term has yet two years 
to run. But the wireless telegraph has come and is in daily use. 
It was not invented by one of the boys he was addressing, nor by 
any American, but by an Italian not then born. 

Marconi, the inventor of wireless telegraphy, is to furnish 
Peary the means by which the world is to be constantly kept 
advised of his progress in his next expedition to discover the 
North Pole. 




1 3th & Water Sts. S. W. 
1515 7th IsT. M^ 1-iTH & D S W. 

'Phone Main 712, 

Chapel for Ftfnefal Services. Phone West 15 


2008 Pa. Av. N . W. Washington, D . C. 

Calls promptlg attrnrictl to riag nr night. 


Furniture, Carpets, 
. . Upholsteries & 
Wall Papers . . 

Cor. nth and F Sts. N. W. 


420 to 4267th St., 

417 to 42^ 8th St. 


gmpnrttrm nf T^ts. 
TaxixLerms. 712 iZttj: Street, $^. m. 

A. Jackson. L. J. Jackson. 

Jackson Bros.^ 

Cash Furniture House 

915-9I7-9I9-92I Seventh St. N. W., 
and through to 
636 Mass. Avenue, Phone E 241-y 






308-310 Eighth Street. 

Washington Dental Parlors. 



Modern Dentistry at Moderate Prices. 

Office Hours. MAY BUILDING. 

8 a. m, to 5 p.m. N. E. Cor. 7th & E Stg. 

Sundays 10 a. m. to 2 p.m. 


peter (Brogan Co^, 

Furniture atti Clarpxts, 
819 821 ^ 823 %mmlh %IM, m 


Market Space. 

The Busy Cornen 


■\V B. DODGE & SON. Pkoprietors. 

Office and Depot, 1757 Pa. Ave. N. W. 

DKALhK^^ IN ABSOLl'Tt'-r^Y 1-tTRE 

Sanitary and Pasteurized Milk and Cream. 
From Toberculean Tested Cows. 

iNoi EB'T.K Fahm. Sharon Fahm, 

L-KWrWa .'ILLIC. Vi. LANGLK-r, Va, 

HHONE 233 1-Y. 


Manufacturers of 

Hce Cream an& ITccs, Jfamils Cra&e 

a Specialty. 
231 Pa. Ave., S E. 1721 Pa. Ave. N. W. 

1679 ^ 

'^ Those Beautiful HALFTONE 
^^ Effects so mucti admired 
^for Commercial Purposes 
^' are made BY US. 


Woodward & Lothrop 




Trunks and 

Leak-ther Goods 
497 Psl. Ave. 
,^^ent Concord Harness, 

Cbarlee (5. Smitb a Son, 




Office, 3218 K Street Northwest. 



938 F St.. S. W. 

jTwilliam lee, 


332 PENN. AVE.. N. W. 

We have fitted over J 00,000 eyes, we can fit yoa. 

thing Op- (^^/ M^^^lLv 

tical. ^' ^''~^*i« Prices. 

907 F Street N. W« M asonic Temple 



dtt'tta-dtt:' -* ^^^ i Equally effective in 
Kii.LiAiiH!y ( Rang-es, f Winter and Summer. 

i Gas ( CLEAN and SWIFT 
fc>A±<iLXy ( Heaters, i^ in Results. 

A Qufck Hot Fire makes a Breakfast on Time. 



Plumber ■'^'^^ Gas-Fitter 

1727 Penna. Ave. N. W. 
Estimates Ciieerfully Furnished. 

Jobbing Promptly Attended to* 

FrEttkltn ^ (!l0,t 

1203 F Strrct, N. TO. 
•ffioOahs, Developing anD Supplies. 



310 NINTH ST,. N. TV. 

J. H. Loughborough, Jr., 

IHouse painter 

Interior decorator 

2513 P Street, Northwest. 

Irwin J. Fre^tchi 

^Inmhsr cintl Hrcttiixg gngitijrr 

2118 Penna. ^Vve. N.'.W. 
washington, d. o. 

Fboite, 'W^est 34:8. 

Saks anb Company, 


and L-adies' Shoes, 

Penn. Ave. and Seventh St. 

WKoIesaLle Dea-Iers Im 

Cigars and Tobacco 
1432 New York Avenue 


rurnishing Undertaker, 


7*ractical Embalmer, 

No. 2goo M Street. Georgetown, D. C. 
Telephone Call, 1038-3. 

1734 Tmn. ^mnut. 



Practical Electrician, Locksmith 
and Bell-Hang-er. 




Burgrlar Alarms. 

Gas Lighting, &c. 

1740 Pa. Ave., N. W. 

rTTrllTltrn Sweetest Toned 
xauUUA.^ Piano Made 



1235 Pa. Ave, 

Factory prices. easy terms 

W. P. Van "Wicfcle, Manager. 

'Bhe **Quick Lunch" 


905 F, N. W. 


0. G. Cornwall & Son., 



1412-14 and 1418 Pa. Ave. 


Jewelers i Silversmiths 

1107 Tenna. A-Venue. 
The Miller Shoemaker Real Est. Co, 


Takes care of Realty Interests, 
Phone West 40 1323-25 32nd Street, 




Stocl< Brok:er, 

52.9 Se-Venth Street JV. \Se^. (Corner K.) 

Qviick Service. Margin 1 per cent. 

Tfkpbanc lE^nst 72G. Privatte office for laddies. 

Handsomest tOareroams in W as hington. 

1324=1326 F Street. 

IP^arker Bribget & Co. 


The paper upon which the ^^d-Vertising ,yheei is printed, is furnished by 
R. P. Andrews and Co. [Inc.] 627 and 629 La. Ave. N. W. The only strictly 
Wholesale Paper House in the city. Sole Agent:^ in the District of Columbia for 
The West Virginia Pulp and Paper Co., the largest manufacturers of Bool< Paper 
in the World. If you need paper, better try them. Phone East 595. 

338 Indianna Avenue, N. W. 705 Ninth St., N. W. 






Columbia Polytechnic Institute for the Blind, 

1808 H STREET, N. W. 


REV. H. X. COUDEJN^, President. 


F". E. CLEAVELAND, Secretary 

One Dollar Ql Year, - - Ten Cents a Copy. 


Contents tor IRoveniber, 1903. 

Trip Around the World ...... 

By the Famous .Travelers, E. and E., and their equally 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 1 

Four out of Five, who serve the King- 

(A Serial Story) - - Edward F;anklin 8 

The Hoisting of Schenk (A Short Story) 17 

Woman's Rights (Poem) 25 

A Benevolent Conspiracj^ (A Short Story) 26 

Literary Findings 35 

When (Poem) 39 

A Forgotten Singer (A Short Story) 40 

The Goal (Poem) 46 

Patti's Return 47 

Lfittle Miss Sunshine (A Short Story) 48 

Pinehurst (A Serial Story) -53 

Successful Blind People 57 

Public Opinion . . . . . Current Comment 58 

We desire to call the attention of the readers of TALKS and TALES 
to articles which appear by the following occasional contributors, all of 
whom are blind: 

H. R. W. Miles, Mary E. Sanford, Charlotte M. Hinman, Alice A. 
Holmes, H. Stennett Rogers, Alfred S. Hosking. Alexandria Caineron, 
Roberta Anna GriJffth, Rev. Ghon el Howie, Syria; Helen Marr Camp- 
bell, Clarence Hawkes, Mamie Ray, Hary Forrester, J. Newton Breed, 
J. B. Kaiser, Nina Rhoades, Fanny A. Kimball, Edward Franklin, 
Harry T. Nisbet, Sherman C. Smith, Prof. E. P. Crowell. 


Now successfully operated by our Blind People. 

tTalke an6 ITalee. 

Vol. VII. November, 1903 No II 

,<, ^T^OXTND THE ly 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and Their Equally 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 

It is rather an odd circumstance that the oldest city in Russia 
is called Novgorod, or "New City." Novo means "new," and 
gorod is Russian for "city." It received its name when it was the 
newest town in Russia, and has retained it ever since. It will be 
remembered that Nicholas I. ordered the railroad from St. Peters- 
burg to Moscow to be built in a straight line. It therefore veers 
neither to the right or left to take in any of the larger towns or 
cities, and for many years after the road was constructed Nov- 
gorod was left without railroad connections, but now it can be 
reached by a spur of the main line, which is about fifty miles in 

It is also called Novgorod Veliki, which means Novgorod 
the Great. In the fifteenth century it had a pojjulation of four 
hundred thousand, and was really entitled to be called great. At 
present it has less than twenty thousand inhabitants, and its in- 
dustries are of little importance compared to what they used to 

Novgorod stands on both sides of the Volkhor River, and is one 
hundred and three miles from St. Petersburg by the old post-road. 
It is not remarkable for its architecture, and is chiefly interesting 
for its historical associations and souvenirs. 

We visited several of the churches and monasteries which 
make up the attractions of Novgorod. The principal church 


is the Cathedral of St. Sophia, which was called in ancient times 
"The Heart and Soul of the Great Novgorod." The first cathedral 
was built here in 989; the present one dates from about 1045, 
when it was erected by order of the grandson of St. Vladimir. It 
has been altered and repaired repeatedly, but the alterations have 
not materially changed it from its ancient form. It is one of the 
oldest churches in Russia, and is held in great reverence by the 
people. The church contains many relics and images, some of 
them of great antiquity. 

There are shrines in memory of Yaroslav, Vladimir, and other 
of the ancient rulers of Russia; the shrine and tomb of St. Anne, 
daughter of King Olaf , of Sweden, and wife of Prince Yaroslav L; 
and the shrines of tombs of many other saints, princes, archbishops, 
patriarchs and other dignitaries whose names have been connected 
with the history of the church and the city. So many tombs are 
here that there is little room for more. 

You would hardly expect one of the curious relics of a church 
to be the result of piracy, and yet such appears to be the case in 
this sacred building. The doors leading into the Chapel of the 
Nativity are said to have been stolen from a church in Sweden 
by pirates. Several men from Novgorod belonged to the free- 
booting band, and brought these doors home to enrich the cathe- 
dral of their native place. The doors are of oak, covered with 
metal plates half an inch thick; the plates bear several devices 
and scrolls which we could not understand, but our guide said 
they were the armorial bearings of Swedish noblemen. 

In the sacristy they showed us an ancient copy of the four 
gospels on vellum, and a printed copy which is said to have come 
from the first printing press ever set up in Russia. There were 
several flags and standards which once belonged to the princes of 
Novgorod, one of them a present from Peter the Great in 1693. 

There is a kremlin, or fortress, in the center of the city, but it 
is not of great consequence. Near it is a tower which bears the 
name of Yaroslav; in this tower hung the Vechie bell, which 
summoned the Vechie, or assemblage of citizens, when any public 
circumstance required their attention. In the day of its greatness 
Novgorod had four hundred thousand inhabitants, and its assem- 
blages must have been worth seeing. The Vechie bell was carried 
■off to Moscow by Ivan III, , and many thousands of the inhabitants 


were compelled to move to other places. For a long time it hung 
in a tower of the Kremlin of Moscow, but its present whereabouts 
is unknown. 

The most interesting of modern things in the old city is the 
Millennial Monument. This monument is one of the finest in 
the empire, and some of the Russians say it surpasses anything 
else of the kind in their country. We could not measure it, but 
judged it to be not less than fifty feet from the ground to the top 
of the cross which surmounts the dome, forming the upper part 
of the monument. There are a great many figures, statues, and 
high reliefs, which represent periods of Russian history. The 
great events from the days of Rurik to Alexander IL are shown on 
the monument, and there can be no doubt that the work is highly 
instructive to those who study it. 

To get a clearer idea of this magnificent monument we will 
imagine the dome of the Capitol at Washington placed upon the 
ground, encircled by a railing about breast high. Four or five feet 
higher up on the dome is a band or circle of statues, representing 
historical personages. Still higher up, about two-thirds the dis- 
tance from the ground to the crowning figure, which is an angel 
supporting a cross, are groups of statuary, heroic in size. 

The monument was designed by a member of the Russian 
Academy of Sciences, and was chosen from a great number of 
sketches that were submitted for competition. The casting of 
the bronze was done by an English firm at St. Petersburg, and the 
expense was borne by the Government and a few wealthy citizens 
of Novgorod. As is usual in such cases, the Government con- 
tributed a greater part of the money. 

In former times an important fair was held here, and mer- 
chants came to Novgorod from all parts of Europe and many 
countries of Asia. Afterwards the fair was- removed to Nijni 
Novgorod, on the Volga, and the ancient city became of little con- 
sequence, except for its historical interest. 

The Slavs founded a town there in the fourth century. About 
the year 862 the Russian m.onarchy had its beginning at Novgorod. 
In 1862 there was a millennial celebration there, and the magnifi- 
cent monument we have just described was erected to commemo- 
rate it. 

Previous to the ninth'century the country was occupied by 
the Slavs, who founded the towns of Novgorod and Kief. Each 


of these places was the capital of an independent Slavic princi- 
pality. Very little is known of the history of the Slavs in those 
times. The Varangians, a northern people, made war upon them. 
The Slavs resisted, but finally invited Rurik, the Prince of the 
Varangians, to come and rule over them. The Northmen, or 
Varangians, were called " Russ" by the Slavs, and from them the 
new monarchy was called Russia. Rurik came with his two 
brothers, Sineus and Truvor, and at Novgorod laid the foundation 
of this empire that now covers one-eighth of the land surface of 
the globe. 

The millennial celebration took place not long after the edict 
of emancipation was issued by Alexander IL 

Rurik and his descendants ruled the country for more than 
two centuries. They made war upon their neighbors, and were 
generally victorious, and in their time the boundaries of Russia 
were very much enlarged. Rurik and his sons were pagans. In 
the tenth century Christianity was introduced, and Olga, the 
widow of Igor, son of Rurik, was baptized at Constantinople. Her 
son remained a pagan. He was slain in battle, and left the mon- 
archy to his three sons, who soon begun to quarrel. One was 
killed in battle, and another was put to death by the third brother, 
Vladimir, who assumed the entire control and was.surnamed "The 
Great" on account of the benefits he conferred upon Russia. 

Vladimir was not a Christian in the beginning, but he subse- 
quently became a convert to the principles of the Greek Church, 
married the sister of the Emperor of Constantinople, and was- 
baptized on the day of his wedding, in the year 988. He ordered 
the introduction of Christianity into Russia and established a 
great many churches and schools. 

Vladimir left the throne to his twelve sons, who quarrelled 
about it, until several of them were murdered or slain in battle. 

The successful son was Yaroslav, who followed the example 
of his father by extending the boundaries of the country and intro- 
ducing reforms. 

Moscow was founded in 1147, and became the rival of Nov- 
gorod. Novgorod had maintained an independent government, 
.quite distinct from that of the Grand-duchy of Moscow, but Ivan, 
surnamed "The Terrible," reduced the city to submission, and 
inspired by a feeling of hatred of its citizens on account of their 
independent spirit, put to death more than sixty thousand of them, 
many of whom were subjected to torture. 


This ruler, who stands out prominently in Russian history, 
became Czar whe'n but four years old, and at thirteen years of age 
he was permitted to assume the reigns of government. 

He was an unsuccessful suitor for the hand of Queen Eliza- 
beth, who in rejecting him, managed through diplomacy, to main- 
tain his good will, but her ambassador, failing to uncover in the 
presence of the Czar, incurred his displeasure, and it was accord- 
ingly ordered that the envoy's hat should be nailed to his head. 
Ivan was guilty of many terrible cruelties, the details of which 
would be too horrible to mention. 

At the timie he sought the hand of England's Queen, he already 
had two Russian wives, and had proposed for the hand of the 
daughter of King Sigismund of Poland. 

In 1598 the Rurik dynasty ended, and nineteen years elapsed 
before the establishment of the house of Romanoff, during which 
time several pretenders were more or less successful. Michael 
Feodorovitch was the first Czar of the Romanoff family. He was 
succeeded by his son, Alexis, who was distinguished for nothing 
more than that he was the father of Peter the Great. 

Now we step from ancient to modern times. Peter the Great 
belongs to our day, and the Russia that we are visiting is the one 
that he developed. Under him the country became an Empire, 
where it was before nothing more than a kingdom. 

At the dedication ceremonies of the millennial monument 
above referred to, the distinguished American traveler, Bayard 
Taylor, was present and contributed an historical poem, which so 
well covers the period about which we have been writing, that we 
have appended it to the article. 


Novgorod, Russia, September 20, 1862, 
A thousand years! through vStorm and fire, 

With varying fate the work has grown. 
Till Alexander crowns the spire. 
Where Rurik laid the corner-stone. 

The chieftain's sword, that could not rust, 

But bright in constant battle grew. 
Raised to the world a throne august — 

A nation grander than he knew. 


" Nor he, alone; but those who have, 

Through faith or deed, an equal part: 
The subtle brain of Yaroslav, 

Vladimir's arm and Nikon's heart; 

" The later hands, that built so well 

The work sublime which these began. 
And up from base to pinnacle, 

Wrought out the Empire's mighty plan. 

" All these, to-day, are crowned anew. 
And rule in splendor where they trod, 

While Russia's children throng to view 
Her holy cradle, Novgorod. 

" From Volga's banks; from Dwina's side; 
From pine-clad Ural, dark and long; 
Or where the foaming Terek's tide 

Leaps down from Kasbek, bright with song; 

" From Altai's chain of mountain cones; |'| 
Mongolian deserts, far and free; 
And lands that bind, through changing zones. 
The Eastern and the Western sea! 

" To every race she gives a home, 

And creeds and laws enjoy her shade, 
Till, far beyond the dreams of Rome, 
Her Cccsar's mandate is obcA^ed. 

" She blends the virtues they impart, 
And holds within her life combined, 
The patient faith of Asia's heart — 
The force of Europe's restless mind. 

" She bids the nomad's wanderings cease; 
She binds the wild marauder fast; 
Her ploughshares turn to homes of peace 
The battle-fields of ages past. 


And nobler yet, she dares to know 
Her future's task, nor knows in vain, 

But strikes at once the generous blow 
That makes her millions men again! 

So, firmer based, her power expands, 
Nor yet has seen its crowning hour — 

Still teaching to the struggling lands 
That Peace the offspring is of Power. 

Build, then, the stoned bronze, to tell 
The steps whereby this height she trod- 

The thousand years that chronicle 
The toil of man, the help of God! 

And may the thousand years to come — 
The future ages, wise and free — 

Still see her flag and hear her drum 
Across the world from sea to sea! 

Still find, a symbol stern and grand, 
Her ancient eagle's wings unshorn; 

One head to match the Western land. 
And one to guard the land of morn." 


Four out of Five, 

Who Serve The King* 

CHAPTER IV— (Continued). 

The Commander and our friends, occupying a post of vantage, 
kept watch of the Soreta, her name having been made out with the 
aid of the glasses. Suddenly the Revenue Cutter's Commander 
exclaimed, "there's trouble aboard of her, gentlemen," and at the 
same instant the sound of the discharge of small arms on board the 
fleeing vessel was distinctly heard. 

"Let her have it. Baker," said the Commander, and a moment 
later the guns of the Revenue Cutter were in action. The order was 
given to disable the fugutive, sparing as much as possible the lives 
of those on board. It was now as clear as day that there were two 
factions on board of her, each striving for the mastery, from which 
Captain Sparks argued that the regularly constituted crew of the 
Soreta had, until the outbreak of hostilities, either been overawed 
or overcome by the leader of the other faction and his followers. 

Five minutes after the Sprite opened fire on the Soreta her 
engine ceased to work. A signal of surrender was run up, and a 
few minutes later two of the boats of the Soreta were seen pulling 
away from her in opposite directions. At first it seemed probable 
that one of these boats must escape, for while the Sprite could leave 
the disabled tramp steamer until she was ready to take her in tow 
she could only pursue one of the small boats. 

Instantly Captain Sparks ordered an officer to man a smal^ 
boat and start in pursuit of one, while he ran down the other. It 
was soon quite apparent that the Jackies, with their "long pull and 
strong pull, and pull all together, "would head off and capture the 
boat it was pursuing. 

As all eyes were fixed uj^on the two small boats, something 
occurred which brought a look of astonishment into every face, and 
exclamations to the lips of every on-looker, for a huge porpoise had 


risen to the surface, and was making straight for the Soreta's boat. 
For a moment the great fish disappeared from view, and an instant 
later the Soreta's boat shot into the air and all its occupants were 
thrown into the sea. 

Six out of the eight men were now seen swimming toward the 
boat sent ovit by the Sprite. The other two had disappeared be- 
neath the waves, as had also the porpoise. 

"That beats all I ever saw," said Captain Sparks, and while 
the Chief was explaining the occurance to Edward, the Sprite, leav- 
ing the swimmers to be picked up by the small boat, started in pur- 
suit of the other. Its occupants, seeing the fate of their leader's 
boat, stopped rowing and began waving a white handkerchief in 
token of surrender. They were soon picked up by the Sprite, which 
a few minutes later was alongside the Soreta. 

Captain Conrad of the Soreta, who had sustained a severe 
wound, disabling his right arm, came forward to greet Captain 
Sparks, with such expressions of gratitude and thanksgiving and 
with such a frank, honest face that all on board the Sprite gave full 
credit to his story. 

"Gentlemen," said he, "you have saved my life and the lives 
of my crew, for had it not been for your pursuit of my vessel, I 
have no question but that as soon as we were out of sight of land 
we should all have been murdered and thrown overboard. I left 
Gray Harbor with a much larger passenger list than we were in the 
habit of carrying, but as they had all been regularly booked by the 
company's transportation agent, I, of course, had no voice in the 
matter, although I protested our accommodations were inade- 
quate for so many. When I was called out of my cabin by my 
first mate and told that we were being pursued by a Revenue Cutter 
which had signalled us to heave to, I gave order to obey the signal. 

"Presently I heard the cry 'mutiny aboard,' and in an instant 
all was confusion. My faithful crew, seeing me advancing, revol- 
vers in hand, sprang to my assistance to a man. Their leader, with 
nearly all the passengers we had shipped, at his back, demanded our 
surrender, covering us with their revolvers. 

I questioned their leader, whom they called Ergonsorat, as to 
what this action of theirs meant. He informed me that we had on 
board arms and ammunition which he proposed to deliver, together 
with my vessel, to the Filipino patriots who were fighting for home 


and country, and that if I and my men would join them they would 
spare our lives, and we should all be rich men. He said there was 
a great party which espoused their cause that would soon have con- 
trol of the Government of the United States, and that the persecu- 
tion of the Filipinos would cease and their independence would be 
acknowledged. That he had authority from Aguinaldo to richly 
reward all his followers, and that if we would join him we should 
share that reward. I replied that such a proposition could not be 
considered. That the Revenue Cutter now following us would soon 
overhaul us, and if they did not lay down their arms at once, I would 
have every mother's son of them hung as pirates. Just at this junc- 
ture, one of Ergonsorat's men sang out that you were gaining on us. 
This intelligence appeared to disconcert a large number of his follow- 
ers, and a dozen or more of them sang out, 'We'll stand by you, 
Captain.' Others were heard to exclaim, 'We didn't come here for 
this, he lied to us.' At this, some one opened fire on me and my 
men. We returned the fire and I could see that the passengers 
were fighting with each other. 

"About this time you opened fire upon us, and the motion of 
the ship showed that she was disabled. 

"Ergonsorat then gave an order in Spanish, which I did not 
understand, whereupon a number of his followers took to the boats. 

"You know what followed after that. Captain Sparks." 

Edward and the officers of the Sprite came forward to con- 
gratulate Captain Conrad for his brave defence of his ship. After 
a conference it was agreed that the Sprite should tow the Soreta back 
to port. The crew of each vessel, at Edward's request, were pledged 
to withhold all intelligence of what had happened, it being explained 
to them that this course was necessary to assist the authorities in 
ferreting out and discovering all who were responsible for, or con- 
cerned in any way, in the expedition. 

All the passengers were turned over to Captain Sparks as 
prisoners, Captain Conrad identifying, as far as possible, those who 
had deserted their leader and come to his assistance, and these were 
assured that their conduct in this particular would be duly reported 
when they should be called up for examination. 

A thousand rifles and twenty thousand rounds of ammunition 
were turned over to the Government. 



As Edward was taking farewell of Captain Conrad, the Captain 
said, "there is one thing about this affair, Mr. Crawford, which 
puzzles me very much. The porpoise that upset Ergonsorat's 
boat was the strangest acting porpoise I ever saw or heard tell on, 
and if 'twarnt impossible, I should say 'twar another case of Jonah 
and the Whale. One thing is mighty certain, if that chap, Ergon- 
sorat ever turns up alive, it will be my opinion that the devil sent 
that porpoise to help him out of the scrape." 

Edward laughed, and Captain Conrad resumed, " Captain 
Sparks tells me that it was you who put them on to Ergonsorat's 
game, and as how you had made the discovery without your sight." 
''Why, my dear fellow," said Edward, "You are like all the 
rest I have come in contact with in this affair. All of them speak 
of the part 1 have taken as though I had done something wonderful. 
It is doubtless due to the fact that I am blind, and people refuse to 
believe that a blind person has brains and can use them. Now it 
was the easiest thing in the world, my dear Captain. It was simply 
putting two and two together to make four. Father had read in 
the American that a large shipment of pianos was being sent to 
Hong-Kong from the port of Gray Harbor. 

"This seemed a little queer to me at the time, but later, a case 
of attempted blackmail, and possible murder, brought to my atten- 
tion certain facts which aroused my suspicions that a scheme was 
afoot to ship arms and ammunition out of the country contrary to 
law and possibly to aid the rebels in the Philippine Islands. 

"Upon my reaching Elmdale, and learning that one of the sus- 
pected parties had been conducting a thriving business in second- 
hand pianos, who had only rented a store, ostensively for that pur- 
pose a few weeks ago, I connected this circumstance with the 
shipment of pianos to Hong-Kong, as noted in the morning paper 
of the day before. The rest you know." 

"Well, that does seem easy enough, but after all, Mr. Craw- 
ford, it is not every one who would have put two and two together, 
which you speak of as so simple a matter. In my opinion, sir, you 
are deserving of great credit. 

"At any rate, sir, it was the putting the two and two together 
that has saved my life and the lives of my crew, as well as my ship, 
and prevented any amount of mischief which the successful carrying 


out of this plot might have worked, by giving aid and encourage- 
ment to the PhiHppine rebelHon. It is my honest opinion, sir, that 
Ergonsorat was not making an empty boast when he referred to the 
sympathizers with Agninaldo in this country, and that bait he held 
out to those poor fellows you have on board as prisoners, would 
catch a good many. 

"Why, Lord, sir, if Uncle Sam should let those Tagaiogs have 
their own way in the Philippines, tv/enty years wouldn't see the end 
of the fighting and bloodshed going on there, and nothing gained at 
that, sir! 

"Why, sir, if Aguinaldo was the chap they say he is, and was 
ready to sacrifice his ambition to his country's good, he would have 
welcomed the exchange of masters "with a grateful heart and would 
have done everything possible to assist the Government of the 
United States in its efforts to bestow its blessings for the elevation 
of mankind." 

"No doubt of that, Captain. Whatever our countrymen may 
think of the economy, advantages or disadvantages of our under- 
taking to carry out this trust, no one worthy of notice honestly im- 
punes the motives of those at the head of our ship of vState, and the 
best friends. of the Filipinos are those who hold that our country 
should do its whole duty by this people." 

"Captain Sparks says we'll be off in a minute, sir!" announced 
one of the officers of the Sprite, whom the Captain had sent to con- 
duct Edward aboard, for the conversation just related had taken 
place in the cabin of Captain Conrad, on board the Soreta. 

"Good-bye, Mr. Crawford," said Captain Conrad. "I shall 
keep an eye on you, young man, and look you up the next time I 
touch any port near you." 

"Good-bye, Captain," said Edward, "you have my best wishes 
for a successful voyage." 

When Edward reached the deck of the Sprite, all was ready, 
and she started on her homeward trip. 

It was agreed on the return journey of the Sprite, that the 
person responsible for the death of the individual whose body was 
found at the foot of West Rock, had, undoubtedly, paid the penalty 
of his crime. 

Therefore nothing could be gained by keeping Willie Nolan 
japy longer as a prisoner, and a few minutes after the Sprite had 
reached her moorings Mr. Edward Crawford, the Chief, and District 


Attorney held an interveiw with the Attorney for the State, at the 
close of which the former, with an order of release in his pocket, 
started for the jail, and when the last train for Middlebrook left 
Elmdale, William Nolan and his friend were passengers, and that 
night mother and son shed tears of joy over what to them appeared 
a miraculous deliverance, for neither of them knew any of the events 
of the day, and ascribed his deliverance wholly to the intervention 
of the man whom they had but yesterday considered helpless in 
his blindness. 

The report of the coroner's jury fully exonerated William 
Nolan, and a letter from the widow of the late Horace Simpson, 
founder of the American, came with the morning papers, request- 
ing Mr. Nolan to resume his labors as reporter for the paper. 

The disappearance of Brockway was still very mysterious, 
but as certain securities intrusted to him to be placed in the safe 
at the office were also missing, the conclusion arrived at was that 
he had made use of these securities, and fearing to be discovered 
as a defaulter he had joined Ergonsorat's expedition, and was, 
probably, one of the men in the small boat when it was unaccount- 
ably wrecked. 

It was, therefore, with a feeling that the defaulter had been 
overtaken by an avenging justice that all further investigation was 
abandoned. The public, however, were destined to be disabused 
of this idea, for the little purse which the prosecuting attorney 
handed back to William Nolan and turned over to Edward, at his 
request, contained a key to a mystery yet to be fathomed. 


Two weeks had elapsed since the eventful day in which the 
Sprite brought the Soreta back to port. John Fairchild was once 
more seated in his library listening to an account by Griggs of the 
time he had already expended on his mission. 

"Well, sir," said Mr. Fairchild, "your face tells me that you 
have met with some success." 

"I hope you will consider it so, sir," replied Griggs. "At 
least I did my best, as I promised you. Fortune favored me, for as 
I stopped at the house of the Judge, in the guise of a weary traveler 
asking that I might be furnished with a drink of cool water, I over- 
heard a conversation between Judge Crawford and his man-of-all- 
work, whom he called Dan, which informed me that the Judge was 


contemplating the employment of a local firm of painters and 
decorators to paint his house. Hearing the name of the firm men- 
tioned, and instructions given to Dan to call at their place of busi- 
ness and request one of the firm to inspect the work which he wished 
done and furnish him an estimate, I hastened away to forestall 
Dan, and succeeded in getting an interview with Mr. Sykes, the 
senior member of the firm, before Dan arrived, in consequence of 
which the estimate of Sykes & Co. was most satisfactory and I ap- 
peared at the home of the Judge the next morning in the character 
of a journeyman painter, for I had served an apprenticeship at 
that business before I entered the service of your company." 

"That was quite cleverly done." 

"That was only a step, sir, towards the goal I wished to reach. 
I had a chance to observe father and son and to occasionally en- 
gage them in conversation, and one day, I casually observed to 
young Mr. Crawford that I hoped I should some day be able to find 
some occupation more elevating to the mind than house-painting. 
I explained that it did not agree with me; that the poison in the 
lead frequently made me ill, which was very true, when I was an 
apprentice. He inquired which way my ambition ran, and I 
boldly asserted that I should like to become a lawyer like himself. 
His answer was rather discouraging, for he replied in a regretful 
tone of voice, 'Well, I guess your chances of gratifying your ambi- 
tion are better than mine,' and before I could vouchsafe any reply 
his sister joined us, and the conversation took another turn. A 
few days later, however, for some reason, unaccountable to me, on 
any other hypothesis than that Mr. Crawford had arrived at a 
different conclusion, by thinking the matter out, I learned from 
Dan, when I arrived to go to work that he had just taken Mr. 
Edward to the station and left him on the train for Elmdale. 'An' 
do ye believe, Mr. Griggs,' says Dan, 'he's gone all alone; nary a 
one of us would he have to go wid him. His sister Mary is worry- 
ing the life out of her, but as the Judge seems to think it's all right, 
I suppose it must be.' I assured Dan that he need have no fears.' 
Last evening, after Mr. Edward had returned from Elmdale, he 
sent for me, and I was overjoyed to learn that my previous inter- 
view with him had borne fruit. 'Mr. Griggs,' said he, 'you told 
me a few days ago that you would like to leave off painting and 
study law. Are you still of that mind?' I replied that I vas. 


He then plied me with questions calculated to see how far I was 
advanced in the common English branches and seemed rather sur- 
prised and gratified with the results. 

'Well, sir,' he said, 'I suppose you know there will not be 
much money in it for you the next three years at least, and, per- 
haps, for three years more after that, for much patience is often 
required in getting a start, even after you have been admitted to 
the bar. But I think I can offer you rather an exceptional oppor- 
tunity to learn, provided we can come to terms.' 

"Assuring him that I would be satisfied with any terms he 
chose to make, he concluded the interview by saying, 'that if Mr. 
vSykes could put another man in my place on the house, I could 
accompany him to his office in the morning,' and I have had my 
first day's experience as amanuensis and law student. Mr. Craw- 
ford was greatly gratified to learn that I vmderstood stenography 
and typewriting, and seemed pleased with my work. This is the 
goal I planned to reach, and I trust the progress I have made is 

"If you succeed as well in all things as you have in this, Mr. 
Griggs, I will not have much reason to complain." 

"There is one thing, however, sir, that is troubling me." 

"Well, sir, what is that?" 

"You know, sir, the position which I occupy is one of trust 
and confidence. I know you would not ask me to do anything dis- 
honorable, sir, and I know your only motive is to carry out your 
intention of being of service to Mr. Crawford. My first thought 
was to get into a position to know all about his affairs, but now 
that I have succeeded in doing so, how am I to serve two masters, 
and at the same time be worthy of the trust and confidence im- 
posed in me by each?" 

"Give yourself no uneasiness on that score, Mr. Griggs. It 
is not necessary for my purpose that I should know any of the 
transactions of lawyer and client, which in your capacity you may 
become acquainted with, but it is my purpose to do all that my 
influence and means will enable me to do to advance the interests 
of this young man. To do this without his knowing it, some one 
must be on the ground familiar with all the circumstances and 
capable of judging when and how a move should be made. You 
have given me up to this time a detailed explanation of how you 


contrived to become a law student in the office of Mr. Crawford, 
but from this time forward I shall require no such detailed state- 
ment, and I shall make you sole judge of the occasion and the 
thing to be done. In other words, sir, my bank account and any 
influence I possess are at your disposal for carrying out the pur- 
pose I have explained, and the only return I ask, is such as I shall 
get, in common with every other observer of his career. You, of 
course, note that this is an extraordinary charge I impose both 
upon your judgment and integrity. I pride myself, sir, that I am 
a good reader of character, and I have had five years in which to 
study yours," saying which, Mr. Fairchild arose, shook hands with 
Mr. Griggs, and bade him good evening. 

On the way to his lodgings, Griggs pondered over what the 
railroad magnate had said to him. 

John Fairchild was rated as a m.ulti-millionaire. He had 
just said his bank account and influence were at his (Griggs) dis- 
posal, to advance the interests of Edward Crawford, and the task 
was his, to use both for this purpose, without even arousing the 
suspicion of the young lawyer. 

There was nothing then to do but to await events. It might 
be months, and even years. 

The chance, however, was nearer at hand than Mr. Griggs 
supposed, and one that would put John Fairchild's good intentions 
to the test, nor was it to be either the expenditure of money, or the 
exertion of influence, but a plain, simple act of justice. 

The Hoisting of Schenlc. 

Wallaria is a large tract of land lying somewhere to the nor:h 
of the Orange River Colony. It belongs, I understand, to Ger- 
many, but to all intents and purposes it is Kaisered by Frederic 
Schenk, whose official position is Consul. 

Wallarsburg is the Capital of Wallaria and is a fairly well- 
built town. There are three principal streets, which are inter- 
sected by the other streets of the town, thus forming a series of 
squares. There is a large, open market-square surrounded by 
the municipal and Government buildings. 

Besides Wallarsburg there are five other settlements in Wallaria 
the names of which, as they will not concern this narrative, it 
would be useless to chronicle. For one reason, I might not be 
able to disguise their names so well as I have done the others, and 
as this is a fairly truthful story I would wish not the real names 
to become known. 

All these settlements, however, in common with Wallarsburg, 
are engaged in the industrious occupation of hunting for diamonds. 
The population is very cosmopolitan, with a shght majority of 
British settlers. One fifth of the population are loafers who pass 
their time in supporting buildings in the square by leaning against 

A word or two about Schenk. Absolutely unscrupulous and 
devoid of any particle of honor, he had come to Wallaria to take 
up a junior position at the Consulate some eight years back. In 
five years he had mounted the ladder and now occupied the top- 
most rung, which he had held for three j^ears, and, for aught I 
know, still holds. 

However, for six months prior to the opening of this story 
Wallaria had not been going ahead. The cause of this impediment 
to its progression lay in the fact that a roving tribe of 3waz!s hn.d 
taken up their quarters in the forest to the north-east of Wallaria, 
under the leadership of a herculean savage rejoicing in the poetic 
name of Watooina. 

This happy band were in the habit of making pilgrimages into 
the town of Wallarsburg, and after annexing anything which took 


their fancy the}' would burn buildings or kill a few of the townsfolk. 

Of course, it must not be imagined that.Wallaria and Wallars- 
burg quietly submitted to this treatment. The Town Guard 
some fifty strong had on five occasions gone out to wipe the Swazis 
off the face of the earth. The Town Guard came down to thirty- 
three strong, whilst the Swazis remained at practically the same 

Schenk was at his wits' end. At last one night, made more 
daring than ever b}* their successes, the Swazis descended on the 
town, killed eight of the inhabitants, wounded many, and carried 
off ten prisoners. Besides this they had set fire to the Town Hall. 

After this last audacious attack Schenk was compelled to 
adopt what was ever with him a last resource. In other words, he 
offered a reward of ;^5oo for the body of Watooma — who seemed 
to be the enemy's mascot — dead or alive. 

This offer attracted much attention in Wallarsburg, and it 
particularly appealed to one Charles Seymour. He was a young 
Englishman, and, like many others, had arrived at the Cape with 
practically no assets, but with the idea of making many. He had 
drifted up-country until fate had set him down permanently at 
Wallarsburg. He had led an active life and was a good shot, be- 
sides being proficient in most sports. 

"There's your chance, Charlie," cried a passing friend, point- 
ing to the notice offering £s°° reward. And no one was surprised 
when it was given out that Charlie Seymour had gone out to try 
his hand at capturing Watooma, accompanied by his chum, Hugh 
Went on. 

Exactly how they did it does not much concern this narrative. 
At any rate, they played on the superstitious fears of the Swazis 
whilst they were engaged in an orgie. By a preconcerted plan of 
action they managed to cut Watooma off from the remainder in 
the general fight which took place, occasioned by a judicious use of 
phosphorus and fireworks. They were enabled to stun him whilst 
half-dead with fear, and then to carry him back to Wallarsburg 
before the Swazis returned to their haunts. 

It was a triumphal procession that marched up Main Street, 
Wallarsburg, with Charlie Seymour and Hugh Wenton at their 
head, whilst a cart brought along the bound body of their prisoner. 

An unholy joy, which boded ill for Watooma, shone behind 
the glasses in the eyes of Frederic Schenk as he came to meet the 


procession in the market-place, and to formally take possession of 
the prisoner. Later on the same day Charlie called at the Consulate. 

"Mishtaire Schenk vill see you in one moment," volunteered 
a clerk in the office. Presently a bell rang and the same clerk, 
beckoning to Seymour, entered the private office and announced 

"Good morning, Mr. Seymour," began Schenk, who spoke 
almost perfect English. "Will you not sit down?" 

"Thank you," responded his visitor. 

"Well, presumably you have called with reference to your 
little affair with our black friend, eh?" 

"That is so. To put it plainly, I have come after that ;,(J5oo." 

"So — oh!" was the German's reply, with a wave of his hands. 
"But I have a counter proposition to make. Instead of paying 
you ;^5oo, I will give you 500 acres of land in Wallaria. How will 
that suit you? " 

Charlie thought for some minutes. Land was at a good price 
in Wallaria, and in all probability he could realize more than /.-500 
from the 500 acres. The fault of it was he did not know Schenk 
sufficiently. Had he done so he would never have imagined that 
this wily diplomatist would give anything away. At any rate, 
Charlie agreed to the proposition of Schenk, who had evidently 
anticipated an acceptance of his offer, for he immediately rang 
the bell for a clerk to enter. 

"Bring in Mr. Seymour's agreement," he said. 

The clerk presently returned with a long official document, 
commencing, "To All Whom These Presents May Concern." It 
had been drawn up both in English and in German, and it went on 
to state in the fioweriest of language that Charles Seymour was 
the owner of 500 acres of land situated in Wallaria, the exact locality 
to be determined by Frederic Schenk. And, further, that the 
said Charles Seymour, on the condition of becoming the absolute 
owner of the land, waived all claim to the £500. This seemed very 
fair and all in order to Charles, and he accordingly signed his name 
to the document, which was witnessed and sealed. 

"When shall I get the title-deeds and But, by the way, 

you haven't said yet whereabouts my land is. And it doesn't 
state it exactly in the agreement. Where is my land to be, Mr. 
Schenk?" abruptly demanded Charlie, becoming suddenly sus- 


"Just where I determine, my friend," replied the ConsuL 

"Yes, but I want to know where it is. Tell me right away 
or I'll " 

"You would not threaten me, would you, Mr. Seymour? I 
never travel without my little companion, 3^ou know." And as he 
spoke he toyed with a revolver and smiled urbanely at Seymour, 
who had become suddenly calm. 

"It seems to me, Mr. Consul, that I have played right into 
your hand." 

"Do not be downcast, my young friend; you are not the 
the first," replied Schenk, with cheerful conceit. 

A wave of anger rushed through Charlie, and with a sudden 
movement he dexterously kicked the revolver from Schenk's hand 
and then closing with him gave him a short, but very sharp, lesson 
in the noble art of self-defence, of which. Charlie was a master, and 
Schenk was not. Some officials rushed into the room and forcibly 
removed Charlie from the German, who, in the short encounter, 
had been considerably mauled. 

"Now, my prize-fighting friend, you shall suffer for what you 
have done," snarled Schenk. 

Seymour laughed scornfully. 

"Laugh away, my friend, but don't forget your old saying 
about laughing last and best. Now , I could put you in gaol for 
assault, but instead of that I give you twenty-four hours to leave 
Wallersburg, and then if you show your face in the town again 
you'll repent it. You can go out and claim your land. There it 
lies," and he pointed ambiguousl}^ to the wide expanse of desert 
which could be seen from the office windows. 

"Good morning, Mr. Seymour. I trust you will find your 
property in first-class order when you arrive there," In his anger 
Schenk turned to his clerks and the bystanders who had crowded 
in, and shouted, "Mr. Seymour holds in his hand the title-deeds, 
to 500 acres of best Wallarian desert, which he has argeed to take- 
instead of the ^500 offered for the body of Watooma." 

A roar of laughter went up, whilst a threatening movement by 
Charlie was forestalled by the Consulate officials. 

"Mr. Seymour cannot complain of my lack of generosity, for 
I tell him he can take his choice of the whole desert." 

Another roar of laughter went up, but it was confined to those 


who were dependent upon Schenk, the townsfolk remaining silent. 

Eventually Charlie left the building and joined Hugh Wen- 
ton and a few others of his chosen associates. To them he told 
the whole story of his interview with Schenk, and loud were the 
threats against that worthy official. All expressed their opinions 
with the exception of iVrthur Denton, who had studied for the Bar 
in England and was now studying by the bar in Wallarsburg. 
Noticing his silence, Seymour turned to him. 

"Well, Denton, have you any suggestion to make?" 

"I've got an idea," he answered, slowly, "but I want to think 
it out first. I reckon I'll go for a stroll and think over it, and if I 
can work this out we'll just about squash Mr. Schenk." 

With great nonchalance a game of cards was started until the 
advent of Arthur Denton brought about the closure. He came in 
and sat down. Then for the next half-hour an animated discussion 
took place. That the scheme was a good one was evident from 
the smiling faces of the conspirators. 

That same night at about eleven o'clock a wagon left Wallars- 
burg driven by Seymour. And occasionally a mounteci man left 
the town, but, as men rode in and out daily from the other settle- 
ments, it passed quite unnoticed. But some ten miles out across 
the desert the riders began to come together, and eventually a 
band of fifteen men had joined the wagon which was driven by 

On Wednesday, the ist of October, at exactly ten in the morn- 
ing, the monthly ox-train left Wallarsburg for the South. This 
ox-train conveyed the mail and all the diamond otitput for the 
month, and was guarded by six mounted men besides the drivers. 
Some months Schenk would ride with it, and on this particular 
occasion he did so. 

They inspanned the first night some twenty miles from Wallars- 
burg. On the following day they were due at the first of the two 
clusters of vv^ells which constitute the only water supply in the desert. 
The ox-train carries sufficient water to last it two days, and as the 
wells are two days' journey from each other (per ox-train) the 
arrangement is a good one. 

On the evening of the second day the wagons drew near to 
the first oasis, when to their astonishment they saw several tents 
round about the trees. As they came up they also found that a 
barbed-wire fence had been erected, which railed off the land round 


the wells for some distance. A man on horseback hailed them as' 
they stopped. 

"Halloa!" he cried. "Anything the matter?" 

One of the guards cantered up to him, whereupon he repeated 
his question. 

"No," was the answer; "there's nothing the matter. We're 
inspanning here and we want water. But what's all this fencing 

"Don't you know? This land is the property of the Wallaria 
Water Supply Company, Limited. Managing director, Mr. Charles 
Seymour. I am the secretary, and shall be pleased to take any 
orders you may be giving for water." 

The Wallarsburg man almost fell off his horse in amazement. 

"This is paying Schenk back, I suppose?" he presently re- 
marked, with a broad grin, for the affair of the reward was, of 
course, common propert}'. " Reckon Lll get back and send Schenk 
himself along to see you." 

As soon as the man had turned back towards the ox-train, 
Charlie Seymour came from the tents; he, too, was mounted. 
After a short conversation the "secretary" of the Wallaria Water 
Supply Company, Limited, returned to the tents, leaving Seymour 
to await the arrival of Schenk. He had not long to wait, for that 
same person soon came galloping up. 

"What is this?" he cried. "What are you doing here, you 

gaol-bird? I will break " And then he paused, for he suddenly 

observed he was gazing straight at the barrel of a wicked-looking 
revolver which Seymour held. 

"Yes, Mr. Schenk; you will break something or other, you 
were saying?" 

"I was saying I would break down if I had no water," re 
replied the wih' German, with a smile intended to be conciliatory. 

"If it's only water you're wanting, Mr. Schenk, you can have 
any quantity of it." 

The Consul beamed. 

"At a price," added Seymour. "Yes, Mr. Schenk, your gaol- 
bird friend will be pleased to supply you with water at ;^io per 
gallon. It's the only product of the land you so kindly presented 
me with, and so, of course, I must make the most of it." 

For some minutes the German could not speak. Usually a 
cool, level-headed man, he was for once absolutely beaten. First 


he tried persuasion, but it failed. Then he tried argument, but 
that failed too. And then once more he lost his temper. 

"I'll see you hanged first before I pay you any ;^io a gallon. 
We will take what water we please. You just wait, my friend; 
we v/ill talk to you presently in another way." 

"Sit where 3^ou are," calmly replied Seymour. "This little 
arrangement has a nasty habit of going off." He motioned to his 
revolver, which was still pointing directly at Schenk. "You can 
go back in a minute, but first I'd like you to see a little picture." 

Seymour whistled. Then he said to the German, "Just see 
my board of directors." 

As he spoke, fifteen mounted men armed with rifles filed out 
from behind the tents and trees. 

"That's the secretary," remarked Cliarlie. "Those last three 
are the auditors and solicitor to the board. I'm the managing 
director. Funny way they've got of signing documents, you know, 
Mr. Schenk." Charlie grimly pointed to his own rifle in its rest 
by his knee as he spoke. 

Schenk 's face was dark with rage. 

"You thieving Englishman " he began, Ijut Seymour cut 

him short. 

"Stop that," he shouted, "and speak civilly. Five hundred 
gallons is the least you can work with, so if you will give me notes 
for ;^5,ooo you can have the water." 

" Five thousand pounds! " moaned the German. " Wliere can I 
get ;^5,ooo from?" 

"I happen to know 3'ou've a great deal more than that with 
you, Mr. Schenk, and, besides, there's tlie land to buy." 

"The land to buy?" gasped the Consul. 

"Yes, I'll sell you back the 500 acres. My price is ^~io,ooo. 
If you do not accept you will not get the water, and if you do not 
get the water you'll die a little sooner than need be. I have a 
deed drawn up, like 3^.ou had, my friend, whereby my ownership 
of the 500 acres becomes null and void on receipt of the ;;^i 0,000. 
I've my directors' fees and all the rest of it to pay, you know. 
Now, then, do you accept?" 

Schenk did not reply except to mutter rapidly in German. 

"I give you two minutes," said Seymour, as he took out his 
watch with his disengaged hand. "At the end of that time the 


water will be ;£2o per gallon, and the land ;^40 an acre instead of 
;)<^2o. One minute is already up." 

"Confound you, I'll accept," snarled the German 

Seymour gave another whistle, and the "secretary" of the 
Wallaria Water Supply Company, Limited, cantered up. 

"Have you got that deed, Hugh?" asked Seymour. "Mr. 
Schenk will take 500 gallons of water at ;^io per gallon, and will 
also buy the land for ;^io,ooo." 

Seymour signed the deed of transfer, whilst Schenk wrote a 
note to his clerk who was accompanying the train, instructing 
him to bring a certain wallet to him. The "secretary" delivered 
the note to the clerk, who brought along the wallet, and the £iSr 
000 was duly paid over, with Schenk talking hurriedly in low Ger- 
man all the while. 

None of the Wallaria Water Supply Company, Limited, re- 
visited AVallarsburg, or, indeed, Wallaria, again. But it was a 
singular fact that the revenue of Wallaria for that current year 
was over ;^i 5,000 smaller than the average. 

Woman's Rights. 

A Woman's RigJits, 
A Woman 's . Rights — 
What does the term imply? 
A Woman's Rights 
To set to Rights 
The world that goes aivry. 
She stood on the lecture platform, 

With a look in her steely eyes 
That brooked no opposition 

(And woe to the man who tries!) 
She spoke in a voice defiant, 

With the air of one who fights ; 
She talked with power for a livelong hour, 

And her theme was "Woman's Rights." 
She raved of the wrongs of women, 

She talked of the tyrant man, 
And the suffering sex, down-trodden 

Since this weariful world began. 
She painted a powerful picture 

Of the days, not too remote, 
When the man should sit by the fire and knit. 

While his wife goes out to vote. 
Then a sweet little girl made answer 

In a soft and silvery tone — 
"We are all for the Rights of Woman, 

But we hold that a woman's throne 
Is a seat by her baby's cradle, 

Or a chair by a sick man's bed; 
It is hers to reign in the realm of pain. 

And to ease the aching head. 
"We are all for the Rights of Woman, 

If a Woman's Rights imply 
The right to be loved and cherished. 

With a love that asks not 'Why?' 
The claim to a tender homage 

From one who has hailed her 'queen!' 
With whom she'll share each hope and fear — 

Yes, these are the 'Rights' we mean. 
"To succor the sick and weary 

In the hour of their utmost need ; 
To act as an inspiration 

For some brave and noble deed. 
To nerve some faltering footstep 

As it scales life's snow-clad heights — 
If this is your Creed, we are all agreed 

On the side of Woman's Rights." 

Jl "Benevolent Conspiracy. 


John Tcmplcton A wealthy old bachelor. 

Robert Ogili'ic His nephew. 

Peter Kennedy , A wealthy old bachellor, 

Violet Carstairs His niece. 

Scene i. — Dining-room of Celibate Club, London, W. Time: Even- 
ing. Templeton and Kennedy discussing the walnuts and wine. 

Jno. T.: The thing is to understand human nature, make 
allowances for its peculiarities, and act accordingly. I know my 
nephew; you know 3'our niece. Tell these two we expect them to 
marry each other, and what would be the result ? 

Pet. K.: Impossible as regards Violet. She's the only child of 
my widowed sister, who died in Sydney nine months ago. I'm 
her nearest relative, now her guardian. She has little or no money 
of her own. Suppose I were to suggest marriage with your nephew 
or anyone else, -the poor girl would think she was a burden, would 
want to support herself, or do something else unreasonable. 

Jno. T.: Exactly; but you don't quite grasp the point. Even 
if your niece was independent and my nephew in similar circum- 
stances, to throw them at each other's heads would be to defeat 
our own ends. That is, if your wish is like mine, to see Violet 
Robert's wife. 

Pet. K.: Nothing would please me better. We are old friends 

J'no. T.: And have never quarrelled more than once a week. 

Pet. K.: And no woman has ever entered our lives to cheer — or 
otherwise — the domestic hearth. Wha,t more natural, then, than 
that we should want to see our young and only near relatives enjoy 
the happiness — or otherwise — we have missed? They would make 
an admirable pair. Your nephew is as manly and honorable • 

jfno. T.: As your niece is beautiful and good; and we can do 
enough between us to give them a handsome start in life. That's 
all right, then. The question is how to make them fall in love. 
Put obstacles in their way, I say. Make our consent to their 


marriage a seemingly impossible thing. The result is inevitable. 
People always want wliat they think they can't get. That's 
human nature. 

Pet. K.: And the modus operandi? 

Jno. T.: Oh, we'll need to prejudice them against each other 
to a certain extent. They must meet two or three times, of course 
to begin with, often enough to become mutually interested. After 
that the obstacles occur. If Robert calls at your house keep your- 
self in evidence ; let him see his visits are a bit of a nuisance ; de- 
preciate young men to Violet in his absence. In a word, act the 
part of a diplomatic wet blanket. I'll do the same with Robert. 
And if they are not eager to fall into each other's arms in less than 
six months, I'm a Dutchman. In fact, I'm so convinced of the 
success of this scheme that, if it fails, I'll send a cheque for live 
hundred guineas to one of the city hospitals. 

Pet. K.: Right; and I'll back my beHef to the same amount. 
(Extending hand.) Shake, old man. We'll see this through. 
Scene 2. — Templeton and Company's Business Premises in Lon- 
don. Time: Three months later. 

Rob. 0. (to himself): Unreasonable old curmudgeon! Not a 
very respectful way, I know, to talk of a relative who has done so 
much for me as Uncle John has. Am indebted to him for almost 
everything. My junior partnership here is only one of many kind- 
nesses. His care, to do him justice, has been more paternal than 
avuncular. But why should I be required to swallow his anti- 
matrimonial opinions? He has been quite happy single; therefore 
so should I. In any case, there's no need to hurry, he tells me. 
The woman who pleases a man at twenty-five will become insipid 
at thirty and distasteful at forty. Human nature, he says. Rank 
heresy, I call it, when the woman is Violet Carstairs. And the 
way my uncle pooh-poohs that angel's sex is simply unbearable. 
They are frail and fickle and exasperating and extravagant in any 
case. Poor old chap! I shouldn't perhaps be too severe on him. 
He may have met with a bad disappointment in his younger da^^s. 
But Violet's uncle is equally unreasonable, and with less excuse, 
since he now understands what perfect womanhood means. Im- 
possible to be alone with her unless we meet accidentally outside. 
Accidentally! Is it? Sometimes I think — at any rate, she has never 
seemed displeased when we did meet. Possibly she may be ex- 


pected to remain single too, to gratify her relative's preposterous 
delusions about celibacy. But let both uncles say and do their 
worst; if Violet is willing she becomes my wife. 
Scene 3. — Secluded part of Hyde Park. Time: Afternoon. 
Two months later. 

Rob. 0. (after being accepted) : You have made me the happiest 
of men, darling. 

Via. C: And my happiness would be complete were it not for 
this secrecy and Uncle Peter's peculiar ideas. He is kindness 
itself, but seems strangely prejudiced at times. You don't drink 
or gamble, do you, Robert? 

Rob. 0.: No. Has j\Ir. Kennedy been saying so? 

Vio. C: Not exactly; but he is continually deploring the de- 
cadence of our young men. He says the manhood of the present 
generation is being sapped by their habitual indulgence in ener- 
vating forms of luxury. They don't work, they keep late hours, 
they require to invent new forms of folly to amuse themselves, and 
they eat and drink too much. All that might apply to you, being 
young man, but I refuse to think it is possible. And uncle is a 
specially severe on the insidious vice of betting. He calls it the 
canker-worm that is eating into the heart of the nation. 

Rob. 0.: The old fraud! And he won a big Derby sweepstake 
in the City this year, besides backing more wrong 'uns at different 
races than his friends remember. Why can't he be consistent and 
show the youngsters a good example.? 

Vio. C: Oh, Robert; you mustn't be disrespectful to Uucle 

Rob. O.: Don't wish to be; but he's not playing the game. 
Neither is my uncle. Lie's equally severe on your sex. Absurdly 

Vio. C: They have both led a self-centred life, Robert, with 
no one to consider but themselves. Their business experience 
may have made them suspicious and cynical. Let that be their 
excuse. But I do wish Uncle Peter would understand that I can 
have a mind of my own, that his views about my future may not 
be mine. 

Rob. 0.: Oh, he has views, has he? Well, he'll require to focus 
them before I take his negative. And if our respected relatives 
think they are going to enact a modern version of the Babes in the 
Wood, with us in the title-rule and themselves as the wicked uncles, 


they are very much mistaken. 

Vio. C: I suppose we must keep our engagement secret for a 
time. But no matter what opposition and difficulties we have tO' 
encounter, we wih be true to each other, won't we, Robert? 

Rob. 0.: In spite of everything. True, my darHng? Yes, 
True till death ! 

Scene 4. — The Same. Time: Afternoon. One month later. 

V20. C. (hurriedly meeting Iter fiance): I have made such a 
discovery, Robert. Just think! Our uncles wish us to marry, 
and have been causing all this trouble on purpose, so that we might 
fall in love with each other. Would you have thought such dupli- 
city possible? 

Rob. 0.: The unspeakable old frauds! Are you sure? 

Vio. C: Perfectly. I was tidying up Uncle Peter's room this 
morning — his study, he calls it — when I came across a letter, two 
months old, from your uncle to mine. Perhaps I shouldn't have 
read it. 

Rob. O.: Of course you should, since it concerned us. Do you 
remember the contents? 

Vio. C: Not word for word; but he said the scheme for 
bringing the ^^oungsters together was developing admirably. 
Some friends of yourself and your uncle had seen us that day you 
took me to Richmond, and — he said — we seemed devoted to each 
other. There was something else about the value of obstacles in- 
making people fall in love and your uncle's knowledge of human 
nature. Also, he was afraid the hospital would suffer. You don't 
know what that means, do you, Robert? 

Rob. 0.: No idea. But they both deserve to suffer more than 
the hospital. Look at the trouble they have given us. These 
stolen meetings — sweet, but unnecessary — the belief that we were 
going against their wishes, and, worst of all, the fact that we've 
been taken in so completely. 

Vio. C: I feel so glad, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. 

Rob. 0.: Do neither. We'll have the laugh later on, and the 
old humbugs will feel inclined to do the crying when they receive 
the punishment that fits the crime. 


Rob. 0.: Yes. It's a nice little plan to circumvent our relatives. 
At their age such hypocrisy is inexcusable, and to forgive them 
would only be to encourage them on the downward path. That's 
agreed, then. You take typewriting lessons — an hour once or 
twice a week will do. I'll get you a suitable address where to 
learn. This is just to give a semblance of truth to my assertion 
that I'm in love with a pretty typewriter. You make the most 
of that curate who pulls your uncle's purse-strings. Get a photo- 
graph of him by hook or crook and — use it. And if, in a few weeks, 
we don't convince the old conspirators of the error of their ways 
and the failure of their scheme, well — I'm not in love. 

Scene 5. — Smoking-room of Celibate Club. Time Evening. Six 

weeks later. 

Jno. T.: Looks bad, Kennedy. 

Pci. K.: Couldn't be worse. Violet has kicked over the traces 
completely. There's no earthly hope for your nephew. I did 
my best, Templeton. You believe me? 

Jno. T.: Yes, old man; but you never knew very well how to 
finesse a suit. 

Pet. K: I acted up to your instructions. Libelled the 3^oung men 
of the present day for all I was worth, with the result that I have 
driven my niece into the arms of the Church for refuge. You don't 
know the Rev. Ephraim Sparrow, curate of St. Swithin's, and unmar- 
ried. He's not a bad sort, as parsons go. Been at my house several 
times. Glad of pecuniary assistance, as he calls it, for his parishioners. 
Interested in the heathen — home variety, which is so much to his 
credit. Got some sense of humor too, as he said, first time we met, 
his name would be familiar. Appropriate also, he added, for one 
who was continually pecking at people's purses. Never dreamt 
there was anything between Violet and him. I wanted to consult 
her this afternoon about some trifling matter. Found her in the 
drawing-room, so absorbed that she didn't notice my entrance. 
Sitting, if you will believe me, with hands clasped, gazingin a 
'moonstruck way at a photograph on the table before her. She 
turned when I spoke, with a dreamy, far-away look, as if she had 
got the lime — the love-light, or some other nonsense, in her eyes. 
Tried to hide the photograph when she realized how matters stood. 
But I was firm; I insisted on seeing it. And what did I behold, 


Templeton? The Reverend Sparrow! It was a time for firmness, 
though I hated to be rough to my dead sister's only child. Got a 
reluctant admission from her that she admired, liked, and respected 
the man. Between ourselves, she is simply infatuated with him; 
and we have been on the Vv-rong scent all along. 

Juo. T.: Seems so. My nephew has virtually snapped his 
fingers at me and told me to do my worst. He's engaged to a 
typewriter of the usual class — poor and pretty. Say's he's proud 
of her, and will marry her in spite of all the uncles in Christendom. 

Pet. K.: It might have been worse. A typewriter may be a 
lady who has to work for a living. 

J}w. T.: Yes; just as a parson may be a gentleman who has to 
hunt for a living. That's not the trouble. There's no purse 
pride about me. Have had to work my own way up from nothing. 
But it seems Robert's girl has a disreputable old relative. He 
dian't say as much; he naturally wants to make the best of things, 
I can see, however, that this old party — stepfather or uncle or 
something, don't know the exact relationship — is going to be very 
much of a trial. 

Pet. K.: My sympathies go out towards ^'ou, Templeton, 
Choke the old reprobate off if he comes lurching about your house and 
making a nuisance of himself. Be firm at the start. It's a blow — 
this failure to bring the young people together; but we've the con- 
solation of knowing that, as regards ourselves, we are still on the 
same old footing. 

Jiw. T.: Yes, Kennedy. Close friends always, and affliction 
has only brought us closer. 

Scene 6. — Meeting-place in Llyde Park. Time: Afternoon of 

following day. 

Rob. O. {after eomparing experiences with his fiancee): The 
result, then, is that our esteemed relatives are completely in the 
dark as to our real intentions. Just the same as we w^ere about 
theirs. Splendid. Tit for tat. A Roland for an Oliver. Here 
endeth the first lesson. And — you know what the next ought to 
be, Violet? 

Via. C: Yes. You have told me. But to be married in a 
week, without our uncle's knowledge, it seeems dreadful — I mean 
inconsiderate, and rather cruel. Isn't it, Robert? 


Rob. 0.: Not a bit. We're only doing what they want, but 
doing so in our own way. That's human nature, as Uncle John 
would say. Besides, the dear old blundering matchmakers need 
a lesson. Let us hope they profit by it. And we can return from 
the honeymoon perfectly assured of receiving the avuncular bless- 
ing. You're not regretting the fuss and fluster, and flowers and 
orange-blossoms, and bishops and bridesmaids? 

Vio. C: No. I would much prefer to be married quietly 

Rob. 0.: Agreed to unanimously, then. And in a week the 
Rev. Ephraim, pledged to secrecy by the promise of a substantial 
gift for his poor, will, with the assistance of a special license, make 
us husband and wife. 

Scene 7. — Smoking-room of Celibate Club. Time: Evening. 
A week later. 

Pet. K. {bitterly, after conipariug experiences ivith Teuipleton) : 
It's all unspeakable sad. Makes one wonder if young people 
nowadays have any respect whatever for their elders. Imagine a 
girl like Violet, unsophisticated and obedient and truthful, as I 
thought, taking such an irrevocable step, and doing it secretly. 
The only explanation this telegram: "Reverend Ephraim Sparrow 
married me to-day. Sorry if you are displeased. But you will 
forgive me, won't you, Uncle Peter?" It's heartbreaking. 

Jno. T. {savagely): Deplorable that the rising generation 
should be so deceitful. What will they be at our age? My nep- 
hew no doubt thinks he's exceedingly clever springing a similar 
surprise on me. The only intimation this telegram: "Married 
typewriter this morning. Special license. Send on your tele- 
graphic blessing." Sixpence worth of condensed impudence. 
{With forced calmness.) It's rough on us both, Kennedy, to find 
our well-meant eft'orts for their future happiness set at naught by 
the youngsters' own obstinacy, rashness, and want of straight- 
forwardness. I — the uncle-in-law now of an unknown typewriter. 
You — the uncle-in-law of an obscure curate. 

Pet. /C.-It's a mutual sorrow. All the more so since we are 
both, as it were, like Rehoboam, weeping for our children. 

Jno. T.: That was a very creditable attempt on your part to 
live up to the parson, although you haven't got it right. Rebecca's 
the name of the party. It takes some doing to get these quotations 
off correctly, but, if ever you're in a difficulty, rely on me to help 
you out. 


Pet. K. {sippin-g whisky and soda and feeling snubbed): And 
the acquisition of that disreputable old relative, added to your 
family circle this morning, must insure for you the sympathy of all 
your friends. I don't wish to dishearten ^'^ou, but he may at this 
moment be swilling liquor in commemoration of the happy event „ 
(Sighing deeply.) As for myself, I suppose I'll require to attend 
church regularly now. 

Jno. T. {emptying his tumbler and feeling irritated): Most cer- 
tainly you will; and let me tell you, in all kindness, Kennedy, that 
you'll be a great deal the better for having a parson in the family. 
You needed one badly. 

Pet. K.: Not being selfish, I'll see you get some of the benefit. 
But about the hospital? We've got to pay up now and look pleas- 
ant. An example of the ill-wind that blows somebody good. 

Jno. T.: Yes; my cheque goes off to-night, as I suppose yours 
will. Looking at the matter philosophically, we're doing good by 
stealth, and not for the first time. 

Pet. K.: And on this occasion particularly we'll require not tO' 
let our right foot know whithersoever our left foot goeth. 

Jno. T.: You managed that all right. But don't quote too 
much. A little goes a long way. 
Scene 8. — The Same. Time: Afternoon. Two days later. 

Pet. K. {advancing hurriedly to meet his friend): Bluffed, by 
Jupiter! Bluffed by the young ones. But I see you know the truth- 
Listen all the same to this piece of precocious cheek from your 
— ahem — worthy nephew. (Reading letter.) " Dear Mr. Kennedy ; 
— It came to the knowledge of Violet and myself some weeks ago 
that our estimable uncles were doing their best to bring us together 
by keeping us apart. Need I point out that such conduct, prac- 
ticed by honorable men of mature years, who ought to have known 
better, was most reprehensible, and has induced deception of a 
similar sort on the part of two young and comparatively innocent 
persons? When Violet wired to you two days ago that the Rev. 
Ephraim Sparrow married her, she omitted to mention that it was 
to — Yours truly, Robert Ogilvie." Unmitigated cheek from 
beginning to end. Fancy laughing at us! 

Jno. T.: Very sad to find two young people starting married 
life by hoodwinking their revered and experienced relatives, who 
were only actuated by a sincere desire to do them good. We'll 
require to look over it, however, for our own sake. After all,, 
we're in the same boat, though that's no excuse for them. This is 


what I got from your — ahem — beloved niece. {Kcadiug letter.) 
"Dear unclw joHn — You wwere informed by Robert th!t he had 
narridd a TYperit(5r, .No doubT it willcomeas a pleasant surprise 
whenn you know lam that giFted indi3idual &. I really learned 
typewriting aftdr a great deal of trouble and doit very ni Ice 
indeed, Don't I Uncle JohN!? Your affectioNate NIecee, violet 
Ogilvie, nee Carstair^ ." Well, we needn't look so glum about 
the business, seeing they have done what we wanted, and the 
feeling that we have been done will soon wear off. 

Pet. /v.. -That's all very well, but what about this? {Reading 
item from newspaper.) "The treasurer of the Esculapius Hospital 
desires to acknowledge, with sincere thanks, receipt of five hundred 
guineas each from 'A Warm Wellwisher' and 'A Heartfelt Sym- 
pathizer.' Further donations, which are urgently needed," will be 
duly acknowledged." 

Jno. T.: Oh, we'll need to keep that dark. If the youngsters 
knew they had sold us to such an extent the position would be in- 
tolerable. As regards them, mum's the word. 

Pet. K.: Yes; and as regards ourselves, Mumm's the word, too. 
I'll pay for it. 


Literary Findings. 

'The House on the Sands," Tedious but an Orig-inal Plot. 

The House on the Sands is one of the late fictional offerings 
by Charles Marriott, who will be remembered as the author of 
The Cohmin. The earlier effort, which is probably best, evidenced 
the fact that this author takes his work most seriouslv, and is a 
careful student of narrative sequence. His chief fault is perliaps 
a tendency to air any number of obstruse opinions on various 
social and political topics with which he involves his narrative. 
His latest story shows this same tendency but also an original 
vagary in conception of plot and climax development. The story 
deals with a talented and ultra progressive English poHtician who 
•eventually reaches a very high estate in the service of His Majesty. 
The political aspect of the story deals largely with the discussion 
of a ship subsidy measure and incidentally voices a supposedly 
English opinion of Yankee progressiveness as effecting English 
commercial interests and maritime law. As to the romance of 
the tale, the author has the temerity to introduce his heroine 
under the most questionable of social circumstances, though I 
must say he reduces the handicaps and allows a fulfillment of the 
usual mission very cleverly. "Audrey Thurston" is pictured as a 
woman with sufficient bravery of conviction to attempt by actual 
experiment to demonstrate the strength of Plato's logic and live her 
life with a man whom she does not love, without the conventional 
wedding ring and dependent for her happiness upon the congeniality 
of mind alone. Naturally this state of aft'airs creates various 
compHcations when the real woman awakes to a realization of her 
great mistake and finds that she has sacrificed the greatest thing 
in the world for a theory which has proven untenable and blighted 
her Hfe. Various characters are deftly introduced in the tale, 
notably the sister of the great man and her devoted lover, the poet, 
who is quite a genius in his way. On account of the lengthy 
political discussions I have already mentioned, the narrative drags 
more or less, although there is an intensity of interest in the closing 
chapters which well nigh saves its fictional value. In the end 
the enemy of the heroine, to wit the man of her platonic affiH- 


ation, goes mad under the stress of a similar awakening to a real 
passion for "Audrey" and, incensed by the intrigues of a pusil- 
lanimous political enemy of the hero, intends to kill him but 
finds a victim in the unfortunate poet, the love theme having the 
usual termination so far as the hero and Audrey are concerned. 
The story does not rank with the author's earlier effort, which I 
have named, but holds considerable strength as well as distinct 
interest as a discussion of various and sundry political conditions 
found in England. It is publislied by John Lane, New York and 

It is now definitely announced that jMrs. Carter Harrison's 
successful book of fair^^ tales. Prince Silver Wings, has been drama- 
tized and will be presented next season as a Summer attraction at 
one of the large Chicago houses. The suggestion of the dramatic 
possibilities of the book came first from Mr. Harry J. Powers, 
manager of the Powers Theatre, Chicago, who stated to Mrs. Har- 
rison that .in his opinion the opportunity for making of Prince 
Silver Wings a distinctly original extravaganza was a most excep- 
tional one. Stimulated by this, Mrs. Harrison laid the matter 
before her publishers, who very promptly concurred in Mr. Powers' 
suggestion and offered to make the necessary arrangements for 
carrying it out. As Mrs. Harrison felt that the co-operation of an 
experienced playwright was necessary for the ambitious under- 
taking, it was decided to call upon Mr. L. Frank Baum, the well- 
known author of the book and play of T'le Wi::a7'd of Oz, as well as 
of other fairy books and plays for children. The idea appealed 
to him from the start, and to his hand therefore was entrusted the 
writing of the scenario and the dramatization. This is now finished 
and has been copyrighted, and those who have seen it pronounce it 
one of Mr. Baum's most original creations. The collaboration is 
a peculiarly happy one — Mrs. Harrison's refined and cliarming 
story-telling abilities supplemented by Mr. Baum's startling in- 
ventiveness and practical experience. The play is in tliree acts 
and seven gorgeous scenes and is called a "musical fairy spectacle," 
a description which promises a rare treat in store for children of 
all ages. It is interesting to note that Mrs. Harrison's new book, 
The Star Fairies, will be published at once by the same house that 
brought out her first success. 


Birds ill Their Relation to Man, recently published, is the only 
work that attempts to cover this particular field of ornithology on 
practical lines, and as a result-the demand from scientific observers 
of bird-life and bird-lovers has been large. The volume is the 
joint work of Clarence M. Weed and Ned Dearborn, two widely- 
known scientists, and is pttblished by J. B. Lippincott Company. 
[These "Findings" can be tound in the bookstalls at the Palais 


— The Mailer. 

Probably all of us have enjoyed Frank H. Spearman's railroad 
stories which have appeared from time to time in the various 
monthlies. Mr. Spearman is unique in the field which he exploits 
from the fact that in addition to his pen talent he is a practical 
railroader and has spent the larger part of his life in the business. 
It is always a pleasure to read an offering of any character which 
in every line evidences the fact that the writer knows definitely 
and thoroughly the subjct of which he writes. As I have said, 
this qualification is Mr. Spearman's, and, in addition to his knowl- 
edge of railroad work in every branch, he has picked up some re- 
markaV)le character studies and weaves them into his tales in a 
most masterly manner. Mr. Spearman's success in the literary 
field is a startling evidence of the wonderful though comparatively 
unknown interest to be found in the everyday workings of great 
enterprises which call for sterling qualities in the most humble of 
_ agents. Spearman has studied his railroad associates, whetehr 
brakemen, firemen, engineer, or those in higher places and pictures 
their traits of character with their development in the dangers of 
their work most graphically, making stories which are stranger 
and full of more realistic interest than the best of fiction. In his 
latest and most pretentious effort called TJie Daugliter of a Magnate, 
he has broadened and enlarged his field, and the work is a master- 
piece in its way. This story ran serially in The Saturday Evening 
Post, being originally called The President's Daugliter until a change 
in the title was necessitated through the discovery that it was not 
a new one. In this tale the writer goes to the heart of the general 
subject of railroading in dealing with the men who build the great 
lines as well as those who capitalize them. In the narrative Mr. 
Spearman has brought to bear his wonderfully comprehensive 


knowledge of practical railroading and engineering, and the story 
is really a scientific treatise in its way, aside from a romantic value. 
His hero, "Abner Glover," is pictured as a strong, homely man, 
and a thorough engineer. Around his fortunes and the splendid 
fight of his trained mind in overcoming the natural obstacles which 
beset the railroad engineer, the writer has built a tale full of strange 
interest, and what is better, practical information. Glover is 
faced with almost every obstacle to be found in the building of a 
great line through a country full of the dangers of wind and weather, 
seemingly combined to blight the success of his engineering plans. 
He meets the daughter of the President of the road while she is 
touring the line in her father's private car, and is forced to cross 
her dainty will for the safety of the train. She promptly develops 
a feminine hate of the strenuous young man who dares to counter- 
mand her orders. Given this situation, the stor}' proceeds to show 
how the splendid en'ergy, force and resourceful talent of the young 
engineer finally wins the admiration and love of the patrician 
beauty until, crouching in the cab of a locomotive which is fighting 
its wa}^ through the mountain snows, she faces death alone Avith 
him and confesses her love. The story is splendidl}^ told and should 
place Mr. Spearman in the position in the literary world he has 
honestly earned. The Doiigliter of a Magnate is published by 
Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. * 

The interference of copyright has practically eliminated the 
intentional reproduction of a title, but the chance of duplicating 
titles is much larger than might appear at first sight. To the 
writer of this paragraph it is known that during the past year at least 
four titles were changed owing to the discovery of another book 
of similar name which recently appeared or was almost read}^ for 
publication. Still another instance of somewhat similar kind is 
noted in the report that John Strange Winter (Mrs. Stannard)will 
call her new novel Tlie Colonel's Daiighter. Mrs. Stannard is an 
Englishwoman, and she is not restrained, as an American writer 
would be, by the fact that one of the most popular novels ever 
issued. General Charles King's most widely read piece of fiction 
bore the title of The ColoneVs Daitghicr. This novel, by the way, 
is a living instance of the constant interest in a clean love stor}^ of 
lively movement. It is in continuous demand today, and, in fact, 
no book on General King's long list is more generall)' favored. 


When some sweet influence goes out of Hfe — 

Some cherished hope, more sacred than the Cross — 
And aU the world looms gray upon the loss, 

And breeds to sharper stress the dear old strife; 

When faith is shattered and the mournful dole 
Of wrecked endeavor spreads its bhghting breath, 
And haunting memories, bitterer than death. 

Chasten witli quicker pangs the storm-tossed soul — 

Then when thy hungry heart, in deadly fear, 
Cries out to God— "The way is dark and long! 

" Is there no peace or rest in Heaven or here? 

' God ! was I true ? Then who has wrought the wrong ? ' ' 

— Harry RicJiard Vynne. 

A Forgotten Singer. 

Twilight had gathered in Miss Trevor's Uttle sitting-room, but the 
'fire burned cheerfully, and the dancing flames lit up Miss Trevor's face 
^as she sat back in her chair. Her attitude was one of repose. Some 
needlework lay idle in her lap: she had dropped it unheedingly. Her 
eyes were absorbed, her calm white forehead drawn together in a puz- 
zled frown. 

Ltxcy Trevor always dressed in grey. Somehow the neutral color 
stilted her. She was not at all an old woman — barely past her thirtieth 
birthday, in fact; yet all the joy that should be youth's dearest gift had 
■died for her before she was twenty. 

Beneath her work a little black volume lay in her lap, and could 
one have peeped inside it one would have seen that its leaves were 
■covered with a beautiful, neat handwriting, in ink that was just begin- 
ning to fade. 

Miss Trevor's dreams were of the person who had written in that 
book, but she was suddenly brought back to real life by an insistent 
knocking ttpon the outside door; and rising to open it she welcomed 
the visitor, a bright-faced girl with sunshine in her eyes, and a pleasant, 
merry ring in her young voice. 

These two were rare friends. The newcomer, Susie Merling, lived 
with her mother in a fiat in the same building as Miss Trevor, only on 
a lower floor, which made all the difference in the rental. 

The small amount that Miss Trevor paid for her tiny suite was as 
much as her slender means could afford. She earned a fairly steady 
income from pen-and-ink sketches, and of late she had increased her 
connection amongst editors of popular journals, and this year promised 
to be the best she had as yet known. 

"I declare I must have been far away in dreamland," she said. 

"Not a favorite occupation of yours either, is it, Miss Trevor? I 
l^elieve I have disturbed you. Shall I go away?" 

"Dear child, no," replied the other brightly. "I was thinking 
some few minutes back how much I wished you were here to share my 
lonely cup of tea. Sit down, my dear; it shall be made in two minutes." 

So they sat down now before the fire and drank their tea, and 
talked as women who have much in common will talk, enjoying each 
other's society. 

When she had started up to let Stisie in Miss Trevor had reverently 
placed that small, black-bound book on a tiny gimcrack table, and now 
a hasty movement on her part overbalanced this fragile piece of furni- 
ture, and the book fell almost at Susie's feet. Miss Trevor pounced 
upon it with a bright flush on her face, and the girl looked at her with 
questioning eyes. 


"Miss Trevor," she said solemnly, "you've been in a sentimental 
mood this afternoon." 

"What should make you think that? asked Lucy, with a qtiestion- 
ing smile 

"Because I see you with that book. There is some mystery about 
it. I suppose you think me very inquisitive, but I would give worlds 
to know what is in that book. In a way I am jealous of it; you think 
a great deal more of it than you do of me." 

"Nonsense, dear," said the other, but her pale, sweet face went 
crimson once more. " It was a present, given me years ago by someone 
I cared for." 

"I am sorry," said the girl quickly; she had detected the note of 
pain in the elder woman's voice. 

"It is all right," smiled Miss Trevor; "it — it happened long ago. 
He has forgotten me by this, but once we were very dear to each other; 
at least, he was to me." 

"And is still," said the girl to herself. 

"He was a poet," went on Miss Trevor, and her voice was a little 
tremulous. "We met in London when he was unknown. He used to 
tell me of his dreams of fame, used to read to me his poems, before he 
found any other pubhc to take interest in them. He called me his Uttle 
sweetheart. I was only a girl then, little more than a child — and I took 
his words more seriovisly, perhaps, than they were intended. He had 
a very hard struggle — but he would say that the thought of me com- 
forted him; that so long as he had my sympathy, my love — and I gave 
him both — ^the world's coldness would not trouble him. 

" But one day fortune smiled on him. A voltime of verse attracted 
a great deal of attention, was praised in all the important reviews, and, 
like Byron, he awoke to find himself famotis." 

" And then? " 

"Well, we seemed to drift apart somehow. He was made a lot of 
in society, invited to the best houses as the chief guest. He — he be- 
came a little careless of old friends as his success increased. I did not 
sec much of him, and when he visited us there was no more talk of love 
or of marriage — as there had once been. 

"My father lost all his money," she went on, after a pause, "and 
the shock of this killed him. My mother died when I was a child, so 
that I stood quite alone. I was left very badly provided for, and I had 
only such relatives as did not believe in the practice of holding out a 
helping hand to those in poor circumstances. 

" By-and-by things became a little easier. I found employment. 
Soon after this I was one night walking throtigh one of the fashionable 
squares in the W\-st-end of London. It was late, but I had a headache, 
and thought that the cool summer air would refresh me. Outside one 
of the big houses I paused. The light was streaming through the open 
entrance-door, and I had a fairy glimpse of a flower- fdled hall, and 
stately rooms beyond. There were voices in the hall, then the door 
closed, and a man's figure came so swiftly down the steps that I had not 


lime to niovc a\vay, and he almost ran into me. A cry of recognition 
came from both of us. It was my old friend. 

"I could not escape, as I would rather have done, and he held my 
hand and looked into my face, the sparkle of triumph in his eyes, the 
flush of success on his face. Oh, it made me glad to see him like that., 
I knew that he had spent a delightful evening amongst his aristocratic 
friends. His voice rang out jubilant in the night air. 

"'Dear little woman,' he said (1 can remember every word), 'I am 
so pleased to see you. It was all I wanted to complete my happiness 
this evening. It is the night of my life, Lucy. There was such a crowd 
of people, and all invited to hear me read to them a play of inine.' 

" He went on talking to me very kindly — almost as he used to do — 
I think he fancied that he had slighted me and that I might feel a little 
hurt. But I did not I'eally. I quite understood how his engagements 
demanded his time and his thoughts. 

"Just as I was leaving him he thrust this little book into mj- hand. 
' It is a play — my first; perhaps the best thing I have ever written or 
shall ever write. Take it. I give it to you, Luc}-, for — for the sake of 
old times. It shall never be published; it is yours. Will you accept 
it? And — and forgive me, dear.' He said that; and before I could 
stammer out my thanks he left me. there. 

"It Avas aliTLOst with reverence that I touched the volume. I knew 
the sacrifice it must have cost him to give me this — the child of his 
brain which no other eyes than mine would ever look upon. I have not 
seen him since." 

"Then he really deserted yoti? It was despicable. Miss Trevor," 
said the girl, in low, indignant tones. 

"Ah, dear, don't speak harshh" of him. You cannot understand. 
His success exceeded anything he had dreamed of. He was the comet 
of a season." 

"And now — what is he now?" 

Miss Trevor looked down. "I don't hear of him very often now," 
she faltered. " He wrote something that the critics did not care abotit — • 
they were dreadfully severe — and somehow his name seems almost for- 
gotten. They said that his work had lost all the dainty charm that had 
once distinguished it, that his later poetry has never equalled his earlier 

" That is eas}^ to understand," said the girl with quiet scorn. " The 
world had not spoiled him then. He was less selfish, his ideals less 

"You would not have said that he was selfish had you known him," 
replied Miss Trevor, earnestly. "He was merely weak and carried 
away by success until he was false to what was best in him. That was 

Susie had other matters to attend to besides taking tea with her 
dear friend Miss Trevor, so presently she said good-bye and went on 
her waj-. 

Miss Trevor, left alone, cleared away the tea things, took them out 


into her little kitchen, washed them up and put them away in the cup- 
board, and then returning to the sitting-room, took up the morning 
paper, which she had not yet looked at. 

Suddenly she gave a little cry, and leaning her head forward read 
with strained eyes the few lines that had caught her attention — 

"We learn with regret that Mr. Wilfrid Marchmont, whose poetic 
gifts attracted considerable attention' some years back, is lying seriously 
ill at his apartments, 5, Westover Street, Hampstead. Mr. Marchmont 
has not been before the pubhc very much of late years, and we fear that 
he has fallen into poverty. That his popularity has decUned is, we 
venture to think, due in no small measure to himself. His later poetry 
has decidedly lost those quahties which first won him fame. But his 
pubhc still exists — as a public must always exist for those who have 
good work to offer — and if Mr. Marchmont has in his portfoho anything 
equal to his first pubHshed book of verse there is Httle doubt that both 
pecuniary and artistic success will be his once more." 

The paper dropped from Miss Trevor's shaking hands and a mist 
came over her eyes. He was ill and in want, needing a woman's help, 
a woman's pity. Oh, why had he not sent for her? He might have 
known that, though all his butterfly acquaintances had left him to die 
alone, she would be true. 

"What can I do?" she asked herself desperately. 

She got up from her chair with a quick, impatient movement. 

"I cannot stay here," she said aloud; and yet she realized that it 
was too late for anything to be done that night. Taking up his book, 
she fingered it with loving hands that were even more tender than ustial 
in their touch. She glanced at the picturesque writing. Here, in this 
Httle book, was the best work he had ever done. If only the world pos- 
sessed that! It would express its admiration, its delight; would per- 
haps give back to the forgotton singer the fame and riches that it had 
once showered upon him; all that he had lost would be within his grasp 

Then a thought occurred to her. She could sell this book to a 
pubUsher. It was a briUiant idea, but he- heart grew cold at the 
thought of it, and her lips trembled. The book which had been for her 
eyes alone had become sacred to the lonely, deserted woman. She had 
felt that Avith this gift, precious beyond all telling, there was a subtle 
link between her and the man she had loved — loved still. Could she 
part with it — could she give it tip into aUen hands? 

"It is for his sake," she whispered, "and I will do it." 

The next morning saw her early astir. She had some experience 
amongst the world of writers and publishers, and had decided the night 
before at which houses she would stand most chance of disposing of this 

But the first house she called upon would have nothing to do with it. 

"Mr. Marchmont's day is over," pronounced the head of the firm. 

"Quite an ephemeral reputation. Scarcely remembered by half a 


hundred of the reading public. To produce it would incan a dead 

The next house she visited was more sympathetic. One of the 
partners saw her, glanced over one or two pages of the precious manu- 
script, and was visibly struck with the poem. But after some hesita- 
tion he told her that he was afraid to make an offer for it — the pubUsh- 
ing risk was too great, despite what the newspaper had said. 

Still persevering, Miss Trevor went to the last name upon her list — 
a comparatively new firm, noted for their enterprise. Here she obtained 
better success. The junior partner saw her. He took the book from 
her, retired with it to his private room, and kept her waiting an hour, 
At the expiration of that time he sent for her to come to his sanctum, 
and informed her that he would accept the poetic play for publication. 

"It is a fine thing," he said; "it should go well. We shall build up 
Mr. Marchmont's reputation once more. I suppose he has commissioned 
you to dispose of it for him?" 

Miss Trevor hesitated and succeeded in evading the quei^tion. 

She went away jubilant. The pviblisher had promised to have the 
work produced without delay. He was not a man to lose time. 

Having concluded this business Miss Trevor visited sundry shops 
where she bought a variety of delicacies such as would be likely to tempt 
an invalid appetite, and then with a queer little thrill in her heart she 
told the cabman to drive to Wcstovcr Street, Hampstead. 

At last the cab drew up before a shabby house — a typical lodging- 
house — and in answer to her ring a slatternly maid-of-all-work came to 
the door and looked with astonishment at the quiet, lady-like woman, 
dressed in pearl-grey, who stood before her and asked to see Mr. March- 

"Ain't 'ere. Was took to the 'orspital this morning," said the 

"Which hospital?" asked Miss Trevor, falteringly. 

"The Metropolitan," answered the girl; and, thanking her, Miss 
Trevor turned away and re-entered the cab, telling the man to drive her 
to that home of suffering. 

When she reached there she asked to see the house-surgeon, who, 
after listening courteously to her request, referred her to the nurse who 
had charge of the case. Upon interviewing that person, a bright, capa- 
ble woman, with a strong face and quiet, steadfast eyes. Miss Trevor 
was given permission to see Wilfrid Marchmont. 

" He is very ill," the ntirse warned her; "enteric fever, but v/e hope 
to ptxll him through." 

Lucy Trevor had prepared herself for a shock, but when she reached 
the bedside she could hardly recognize in this still figure, with the ema- 
ciated featvtres, the man she had loved and last seen with the triumph of 
youth upon his face. She gave a tiny cry, and the nurse uttered a 
warning hush. But the patient had heard, and he opened his eyes. 
There was no recognition in their depths, though his blackened lips 
mumbled strange and incoherent words. 


She sat there a few minutes, stroked the thin, white hands, and 
then she felt her self-control was equal to no more, so she left the hospital, 

saying she would come again the next day. 


There was a sharp tusscl between life and death, but Wilfrid March- 
mont pulled through, and Miss Trevor could never forget the day when 
his brain cleared and he recognized her. 

"Lucy!" he murmured, as she took her place by the bed.side and 
the nurse discreetly vanished. He looked up into the calm, sweet face, 
eloquent with all love, all sympathy, and his heart throbbed with re- 
morse and pain, and dropping her hand he turned his head awa3^ 

"Are 3'ou not glad to see me?" she asked. 

"Glad?" he echoed, looking at her once more. "What can I say 
to express my gladness? All my friends have failed me except you — 
you whom I treated with such carelessness and indifference." 

"We can forget that now," she said, gently. "You had other in- 
terests in life — other friends." 

" I was a fool, who mistook the false for the real, tinsel for gold. I 
was a fool, Lucy — such as all men are when they allow themselves to 
become intoxicated by the foolish flatteries that people utter — flatteries 
that sound so much and mean so little. It was you I should have turned 
to in the hour of my success; you I should have asked to share good 
fortune with me. But I worshipped at other shrines, and I have been 
punished. My power of writing languished and died in that artificial 
atmosphere. It was not suited to me, Lucy. I should have kept up 
my former standard away from society, cheered by your companion- 
ship; for, now that I have had time to think over things, I realize that 
it was your gentle sympathy and encouragement which taught me to 
write. Without them I should never have succeeded. And how un- 
grateful I was! If my position were otherwise than it is, if I had any- 
thing to offer yovi that was worthy of your acceptance, how gladly would 
I lay it at yotir feet — how gladly! But I have nothing — neither fame 
nor fortune — nothing but the love of a inan who has recognized his mis- 

She turned away to hide the glad tears that came into her eyes. 
Poor, faithful heart, it seemed too beautiful to be true. That he should 
care for her, have found her necessary to his happiness, his Avork! 

And when next she came she read to him from a number of papers 
she had brought with her reviews upon his new book — published a week 
before. There was no dissentient voice. The critics had nothing but 
praise for it. The poet was raised once more tipon the pedestal of fame 
which he had earned years before and then lost. The book promised 
to be a financial as well as an artistic success An impettis was given 
to the sale of his published works. Fortune smiled on him once more. 

"When I. get better, if it is God's will that I do," he said to him- 
self, in all humbleness of spirit, "I will ask this faithful woman to share 
the rest of my life, and try to atone for my past folly and neglect." 


He did get better, and found that happiness which niight have been 
his years ago had he onlj^, by being trne to Lucy Trevor, been true to 
himself as well. 

The Goal. 

The man looked up at the god, 

And fancied the god looked down 

And saw his children plod 

Through sea and farm and town. 

And saw the frail men fail. 

Though fearless at the death, 
And some for the Holy Grail, 

And some for love, yield breath. 

And neither pitied nor sighed, 

Though he deeply understood — 
Lo, they were men when they died, 

And the fight, the fight was good! 

— A^ Y Sim. 

A Specter of the Glorious Voice of Other Years. 

Adelina Patti has come back to us out of the past, and I have just 
heard her sing. Never again, perchance, will I have the opportunity 
to witness so pattecically dramatic an incident, imbued with the memory 
of years agone, as the comparison of the Patti of to-day with her of 
eighteen years ago. Of course, the Diva made her first appearance in 
New York, and New York was kind because the metropolis loves Patti. 
But it was really a mtisical tragedy; the voice was there but only a 
misty specter of the glorious tones which thrilled world's audiences 
years ago. I heard the great singer when but a chit of a child, but the 
memory is with me yet, and I can still see the flower garden in which 
we revelled while she sang "The Last Rose of Summer." When she 
sang the same song this time the faded rose leaves dropped around us, 
but ah! they were faded. It seemed but an echo of that once gloriously 
triumphant voice of hers. "When she sang the "O Luce di Qu'est 
Anima," from "Linda di Chamounix" as her opening number, as bril- 
liant an effort as ever v.'as written, I wanted to leave my seat and the 
hall; not because her voice was not delightful or lacked sweetness, but 
because of the void in the absence of those many qualities which it once 
held. It was an old voice, a worn voice and tired, so very tired that 
one felt angry with the master artist who wrote the song for giving it 
so much to do. When .she came to the old songs it was much better, 
and again the tears fell when Patti sang "Home, Sweet Home." The 
sweetness is still in her voice as well as all the feeling, and the singer 
still has the charm of that winsome womanliness which endeared her 
to the hearts of the people when she stood unrivalled in the singing 
world. Please do not inistake iny intention in commenting upon the 
return of Patti to American shores, and it is with all the confidence in 
the world that her welcome will be none the less hearty or sincere be- 
cause her voice has grown older that I mention my feelings on again 
hearing her sing. There is no question about the progressive business 
acumen evidenced by Mr. Grau in bringing Patti back to us, nor is 
there the least doubt that his enterprise will prove most remunerative. 
For myself, however, I would somehow rather have kept my child's 
memory of Patti's songs of eighteen years ago. The contrast is too 
acute, and the sorrow in the failing of that superb voice, though only 
natural, rather spoils the enjoyment of the charm it still holds. While 
Adelina Patti has still all the grace which made her famous I hardly 
think she has the same heart in her work as of yore. The years, while 
they have dealt kindly with the great singer, have also brought her 
many duties, new interests, and new associations, which have rather 
weaned her, perhaps, from the old musical atmosphere which was her 
very life in the heyday of her triumphs. It is Patti still but Patti 
of another era, a more reserved, more conservative Patti. But we 
are glad to see and hear her just the same, if memory does bring a pang 
or two when she sings. 

— The First Violin. 

Little Mis^ Sun>shine. 

Quite right, sir; I did take a day off yesterday. Just fancy 
you missing me. We're like part o" the machine to most o' the 
passengers, seems to me, wound up to order, an' tireless like the 
wheels. Good joke, eh? Lor'! I didn't notice it till you pointed 
it out; seems like I've done with joking an' laughing for ever. 

Married an' done for, you say? Well, no; not quite that, 
though I have heard it said as a young man married is a young 
man marred, an' great fools I've thought 'em as said it. It ought 
to be the other way about, to my mind — a young woman married 
is a young woman marred — at least, it's heavy on my heart to-day. 
No; I havn't been jilted either — never been engaged, or properly 
in love, so that falls fiat. 

I seem bitter, you sa}.^ Well, I can't help it just yet; later 
on maybe I shall quiet down — to-day I do feel a bit heart-sick an' 
tired o' life. 

You want to hear the story? Oh! don't you run away wi' 
that idea, sir, 'cos there ain't none. No; wrong again. I ain't 
wearing this bit o' crape for sweetheart, child, or wife, nor yet for 
relation or friend. Well, if you do want to hear all about it, 'ere 
goes, though, I warn you, there ain't much to tell. 

It's a matter o' three year ago now — almost one o' my first 
journeys, I remember, from Vauxhall to Baker street. We was 
blocked for a minute at the end o' Park Lane— Royalty in the 
Park, or something o' that kind — an' suddenly a door opened an' 
the most beautiful young lady I ever saw in my life came tripping 
down the steps an' into a carriage an' pair fit for a Princess, an' 
as the door clapt to I saw something bright an' round a-lying on 
the pavement, which, the next minute, I'd picked up, an' found 
'twas a bracelet. 

Inside was engraved "From Algeron to Dolores," an' my first 
thought was as 'er "god-fathers an' godmothers in 'er baptism" 
'adn't done their duty by 'er (of course, I knew 'twas 'ers all along) 
by reason of 'er name. 

Dolores 'as a mournful kind o" sound with it, an' if ever any 
living soul in this world looked like sunshine it was 'er as I saw 'er 


that day. I took the bracelet to that 'ouse next day, which was 
my Sunday off, an' I should ha' been well rewarded for my trouble 
wi'out the gold piece she gave me by the flash in 'er face as she 
said : — ■ 

"I thank you over and over again! I wouldn't have lost it 
for the whole world!" 

It was some weeks later that I saw straw put in front of that 
very 'ouse, an' my heart fair sank as I feared it might be 'er; but 
when I asked the men at the mews just near they said it was the 
gentleman what owned the 'ouse — 'er father — an' I felt as glad 
as if I'd picked up a five-pound note. A week later the blinds 
were down, the straw brushed away, an' soon after that there was a 
sale there, an' I gave a kind o' sigh, as I thought I'd seen the last 
o' 'er — Miss Sunshine, as I called 'er to myself, by reason o' 'er 
golden 'air an' beautiful smile. 

I only wished that 'ad been the last I saw o' 'er. I'd give 
summat for it to ha' been! 

It was quite three months afterwards when someone in black 
— a young lady — got into my 'bus in the cheapest part o' Pimlico, 
an' somehow I couldn't help thinking I'd seen 'er before, though 
she was shabby an' white an' thin. I don't know as I should ever 
'ave recognized 'er if she hadn't nearly slipped off the step getting 
out, an' I just saved 'er from falling. 

It was the smile, the same smile, an' as she thanked me I said 
to myself," Lor', if it isn't Miss Sunshine — or 'er ghost." It was 'er, 
worse luck, an' twice a day for nigh six months she rode in my 
'bus, getting thinner an' paler and more dehcater every day — only 
the smile were always the same — sunshine if ever I saw it — sun- 
shine o' the 'eart, which warms you through an' through. 

By that time I'd found out all about 'er — an it wasn't cheerful 
'earing either. 

She'd been brought up like a Princess, an' taught to believe 
'erself an heiress to nigh millions, an' she'd been engaged to be 
married to a gentleman named Gwynne, an' life seemed like a 
rose-garden to her — roses without thorns. 

Then 'er father was taken ill an' died, an' they found there 
wasn't any money, an' the engagement was broken off, an' she 
an' 'er mother took one room in Pimlico, an' she — Miss Sunshine 
— set to work to earn bread for both on 'em. 


I didn't 'ear the story from 'er, don't you think it. I wouldn't 
'ave presumed to 'ave said one word to 'er — though 'er smile was 
what I lived for, from Monday morning to Saturday night. 

Paler she grew an' thinner, wi' a cough that was just 'orrible 
to listen to, an' one day I saw 'er boots — an' I knew why she couldn't 
get rid o' that cold. Lor', sir! she were walking fair on the ground, 
an' split right away from the sole was the uppers — the least bit 
o' damp would soak in, an' 'er that delicate that she looked as if a 
breath would blow 'er away. 

If I'd a-known where she lived I'd ha' chanced it an' sent 'er 
a pair what you call anonymous, but I didn't — she was always 
■waiting where 'er penny ride began, an' got out where it ended. 
So one day I picked 'er pocket. ! 

Yes, I did — as she got in the 'bus — an' I slipped back in 'er 
purse the piece o' gold (to the same value) I'd 'ad from 'er nigh 
a year back for taking 'er bracelet, an' called out in my most per- 
fessional tones, "Any lady or gent lost a purse, 'cos one's been 
fo\md, an' can be 'ad on description." 

She put 'er 'and to 'er pocket an' gave a find o' faint cry — 
it 'ad only a few coppers inside, but 'er very look told what it 
meant to 'er when I 'anded it back to 'er. (I'd slipped the coin 
well out o' sight, so's she'd tliink it 'ad been there for ever so long; 
but she foimd it, for the very next day, thank Heaven, she'd a new 
pair o' I'oots on — that's the best bit o' the whole story I've got 
to think on). 

Then one day my heart fair jumped into my throat, for who 
should get into the 'bus an' seat 'imself right next 'er but the 
gentleman I'd seen with 'er in the carriage that first day — 'im she 
was engaged to — 'im as gave 'er the bracelet — an' he just says; — 

"Good heavens, Dolores — you " 

Well, they talked together on an' on, an' she didn't get out 
at the usual place, an' as the bus' emptied I 'eard him vowing as it 
wasn't 'is fault it 'ad ever been broken off, an' as 'ow he 'ad never 
loved anybody else. He'd marry 'er now — it was only 'is people 
who refused to let 'im throw 'imself away. 
Well, I guessed just 'ow it would end. 

That was the first, but not the last, time he met 'er, an' one 
day she came in wearing a plain gold ring an 'er finger an' looking 
so happy — oh! so happy, sir, it fair breaks my heart to remember. 
It a'most seemed like 'er dead self come to life again, as she were 
in the old days, afore she knew there was such a thing as trouble 
in the world. 


I never liked im — Algernon — never. But when I saw that 
look on 'er face I could 'ave given 'ini a free journey there an' back 
every day in 'is life. He'd come out true after all, an' made 'er 
forget he'd ever been false. 

Well, she didn't wear the black dress any longer, but came out 
in soft, pretty things an' laces, an' one hat with roses like a picture. 

They took a flat near Sloane Street, an' at least once a week 
I'd see 'em in my 'bus; an' she always smiled, for she'd known me 
for a long time then, an' seemed in a way to know I liked to 'ave 
'er in the 'bus. 

Then somehow it came to me that there was the old sad look 
in 'er eyes again. She wasn't quite so thin an' pale as before, but 
she didn't look much happier, an' I soon found out he wasn't 
good to 'er. 

Snappy an' selfish, an' always telling 'er what he'd given up 
for 'er sake, an' 'ow he'd thrown 'imself away, an' the dozens o' 
fine ladies who'd ha' given their eyes for 'im — an' repeating cruel 
little things 'is people 'ad said about 'er father being a fraud, an' 
letting ever3^body think 'im a millionaire when he was nothing but 
a beggar. 

Ah! I 'card an' saw, an' found out a lot about those two, in 
the eighteen months as followed their marriage, an' if ever you 
want to break a woman's 'eart an' kill 'er soul, you try sneering 
words — they act quite as sure as blows, only you can't be 'anged 
for 'em, worse luck, or I'd put a rope round somebodv's neck to- 

No, he didn't strike 'er, an" anybody but a loving, sensitive 
girl might ha' lived through it — it killed 'er. You see, she were 
pretty — very, very pretty, an' sweet — very, very sweet, an' though 
he gave 'er up when the money vanished, he'd 'ankered after 'er 
all the time, partly because she didn't try to 'old 'im to 'is word 
Then when he met 'er sudden, he was a true man for a few weeks — 
he gave up chances o' more money in other quarters, an' split with 
'is people, an' married 'er; an' from that moment began to repent. 

The last time I saw 'em together she looked like a drooping 
white lily an' he was so careless o' 'er, as they left the 'bus, that 
I said a'most wi'out thinking: — 

"Take care o' 'er, sir; she ought not to be out on anight like 
this. You're a letting the rain drip right down on 'er neck." 


"Hang your impertinence!" was his reply, with a scowl like a 
stage villian. "How dare you presume to speak so to me?"^ 
An' she — Dolores — for 'er name came true long an' long ago — just 
turned an' smiled an' smiled, an' dropped a white rose she'd been 
wearing. Her lips seemed to speak, but there was no sound, only 
if ever looks said "good-bye" 'ers did that night. 

I picked up the rose — it's next to my heart now — an' I took the 
day off to go to 'er funeral yesterday; that's what the bit o' crape's 
for, sir. Neither sweetheart, nor wife, nor friend — only for Miss 
Sunshine — an' when the parson said "With God, which is far 
better," I said "Amen." 

XOritten For UalK-s and XSalej. ^ytU "Rights "Reser-Oed 

^ Tinehursi, ^ 

"By Mrs. M. M. 'BucKner, 

That's Miss Cilia's dog- cried Em. joyously, feeling- that she would like 
to take the ugly, spiteful brute in her arms and caress him, so grateful was 
the distressed child that they had wondered to a friend's door. 

"Oh Miss Cilia," she cried, wiping the glad tears from her eyes while 
she took L/il's hand in token of forgiveness. 

The dog barked still more furiouslj' but a step was heard and the large 
hump-backed figure of Mrs. Griner appeared at the door with the clay 
pipe in her mouth. 

"You Horny Head" she cried, "Shut 3'our mouth you villin", and the 
dog slunk under the house as she came out to meet her visitors. 
"Land sakes," she cried, "If it ain't Mrs Hunter's little Em. and the little 
town gal. What's the matter chillun?" she asked kindly. "Lost?" she 
cried. "Lost this near home!" and she laughed aloud, checkinp- herself 
when she saw how tired and worried the girls were 

"Poor little gals, come and rest a bit and I'll take you home. My, 
what red faces! I hope this tramp won't laj' you up with fever. Get down 
Horny Head! to the brindle vicious looking dog, as he came snarling from 
his hiding-place as if to keep the strangers from entering. "What a funny 
name your dog has" said Lil, as Mrs. Griner offered chairs and dispatchd 
a pale bloated looking boy to the spring for fresh water. 

Yes" laue^hed the hostess, "that's some of Charlie's naming. That 
dog is a mighty petof his'n. A powful homly dog but he's a good rabbit 
hunter and barks for us and he'll bite too, if he can catch 3'ou looking 
another way." 

"I shall always love Horny Head, even if he is unfriendlj-" said Em. 
^'because, when he barked at us I knew he was your dog and that we 
were not lost, any longer. Oh! Miss Cilia you don't know what a time 
we had out in the woods to-day how much alike the roads Jire and there 
isn't the least difference in the fences either." 

"Nor in the trees either" added Lil. 

"Poor little creatures" murmured Mrs. Griner as she tilled her pipe 
with the tpbacco she had chipped up so carefully. "I know you must 
have felt powerful lonesome like." 

"l wasn't so 'fraid" said Lil, who was mortified at being caught in a 
position that called forth pity. "I knew if we kept on somebody would 
find us, certain." 


Where are the other children" asked Mrs. Griner, did'nt they go for 
berries too?" 

"Yes" faltered Em., "but we didn't stay right with them — I wish we 

Both girls had flushed still redder and a more observant person than 
Mrs. Griner would have noticed how guilty they looked, but she didn't 
see anything amiss in their wandering from the others, and Em. secretly 
hoped Aunt Kate would view the case in the same light. 

The tall, old-fashioned clock on the shelf struck eleven. 

"Is it that late?" cried Em, in dismay and she arose and put on her 

"Yes we had better go though I'd love to spend the day with you Miss- 
Cilia" said Lil, who was charmed with the humble dwelling and its 
quaint mistress and found much amusement talking to the pale, sickly 
little boy, who had been showing her a pet fox tied out in the back yard' 

"La, listen at the child," said Mrs. Griner looking quite pleased. 

'You'll have to come back and you children can go down to the creek 
and fish for perch and cat." 

"We will, we will, won't we Em?" cried Lil. delightedly. 

Mrs. Griner went with the girls till thej^ were in sight of the house and 
there was no chance of their getting lost again. Bidding them good-by 
she left them, and returned to her humble home humming an old-fashioned 
Methodist tune as she hurried through the wood. "I am glad Miss Cilia 
didn't go on to the house with us" said Em, as they went up the hill 
towards the house. 

"Why," asked Lil. I love to hear her talk and I think she is one of the 
best women in the world, she was so good to us — I shall always love 
Miss Cilia as long as I live." 

"Oh yes she is as good as she can be , but, you see, if she had gone 
to the house with us, they would think we were worse lost than we were" 

Why Em Hunter, you are not going to tell fibs about our being lost 
I hope" cried Lil. Of course not indignantly, I did'nt mean that Iwasn't 
going to tell we got lost, but — but" "What!" queried Lil. 

"Here they are" shouted Jack as he, followed by Meg and Bertie, 
ruhshed f rom under the Mimosa, into the road and stared at the two tired, 
dusty, little travelers, as if tlie3'^ had been part of a circus. 

"How did you happen to come home in a direction opposite to the one 
you ought to have come. ' ' 

"Where have you been and where are j'our berries" were the ques- 
tions poured out in rapid succession. 

Both girls as if by mutual consent, refused to give any answer till they 
entered the house and told the whole story to their elders. Very patient- 
ly were they listened to, as they sat looking very pathetic, while the empt}^ 
baskets,torn dresses and red sunburnt faces spoke most eloquently of 
the hard time they had had. "I hope this wlli be a lesson to you both 
not to play at running off when j^ou are away from the house, said Mrs. 
Land while Mrs. Hunter said, "I'm very glad you strayd to Priscella's 


house, for if you had missed her place and gone on in that direction, you 
wouldn't have come to another house till you had gone about six miles 
— Bellburg- factory would probably have been the next place that you 
would have seen a house or a human being, and the long tramp would 
have made 3'ou sick. " "Now you see what 3'ou both got by not letting 
me into your plan" remarked Jack, not a little pleased that he had got re- 
venge, and without any trouble to himself too. Aunt Kate promptly 
silenced the young man and forbade any one mentioning the subject to 
Em and Lil, as she saw how crestfallen they were and thought thev 
had been punished enough without being teased. 

Billy dashed in the house quite out of breath and gasped, "A peddler. 
Miss Kate, a peddler coming up the road, a big pack on his back!" Mrs. 
Hunter was hearing the last lesson for the day and as the children had 
had to get it over the second time and still didn't know it as well as they 
ought to, the interuption was particularly trying to her, though welcome 
to her pupils 

"Billy" she cried severely, "Haven't I told you so often about this way 
you have of rushing in with some foolish thing to tell, startling every body 
for nothing, now, please let this be the last time that your bring us any 
kind of news in such a manner. Go tell the man that we don't wish any 
of his goods." Billy sneaked out and met the travelling merchant as he 
was coming up the steps, bent over with his load on his back, dirty, per- 
spiring and altogether the most disreputable looking of the class of for- 
eign peddlers, who infest the country. Pock-marked, and hideously tat- 
tooed on his hands, with a grin on his swarthy face that might have been 
called impudent or good-natured as one was in the mood to judge. 
"Good eafnin" he said, as he walked in without waiting for an invitation 
"Laty like to see some fine silk dress patterns, nice linen table cloths, 
lace, spectacles, razors, jewelry, and little notions like combs, brushes, 
buttons, pins etc?" he asked rattling off his stock with the glibness ac- 
quired from long practice and wiithout waiting for an answer or noticing 
the cool indifference with which Mrs. Land treated him. He had stopped 
in front of her chair, as she laid aside the book she had been reading, 
when he came in and now proceeeded to show his goods and assure her of 
the wonderful bargains. Mrs. Land wishing very much to be rid of 
him arid finding that he seemed determined to sell something or show 
every article separately, told Billy to go and let Mrs. Hunter know and 
perhaps she would buy something, thinking that lady better able to dis- 
miss him. "See dose things now" he exclaimed as Mrs. Hunter and the 
children came out and he threw back the top of the oil cloth-covered top 
box and displayed the cheap, showy jewelry and gaudy trifles with a 
a pleasant laugh as he looked to see the delight which the sight of his goods 
afforded. As no one appeared dazzled he held up a purse made of pearl 
shells and red silk, smiled and said, "Dirt cheap, only seventy-five cents, 
but I'll let it go for fifty, as its the last of that kind. Pocket knives?" 
and he held up a card of knives temptingly to the boys. Article aftere 


article he offered below cost he declared, but could sell nothing but a 
ball, which Mrs, Land bought for Tott}' and a card of buttons that Mrs. 
Hunter took for pitj^'s sake. Without seeming to mind the trouble 
he had gone to for such a small sale he cheerfully stored his goods in the 
box and asked if he could be accmomodated for the night adding hastily as 
Mrs. Hunter hesitated, "sleep anywhere on the floor, the barn will do laty. 
"Mrs Hunter wished to treat the poor wayfarer kindly, but did not 
like to shelter such a tough looking character when there was no man in 
the house. Hardly knowing how to refuse him when he was willing to 
accept such humble qua.rters and feeling that an absurd timidity was the 
chief objection to his staying, she told him that he could spend the night 
in the barn if he chose. Verj' soon after the supper bell rang, he made 
his appearance at the kitchen door, as Billj' was sent to tell him to 
come and get some supper, which he received and ate sitting on the steps 
and returned to his airy quarters in the barn where he remained quiet 
and invisible. 

Probablj' if there had been a man in the house, the presence of the 
peddler on the premises would have been forgotten, but to more than one 
member of the household at Pinehurst that evening, the thought occurred 
again and again, that a repulsive foreigner, who might be a murderer, for 
auglit any of them knew to the contrary' was in their midst. Mrs. Hunter 
almost regretted that she had allowed him to staj^ as she locked the 
doors and fastened the windows with unusual care, while Mrs. Land 
with many misgivings and doubts as to the prudence of her sister-in-law 
in permitting such a questionable looking stranger to stay on the place, 
longed for the athletic husband, whom she knew would laugh at her foolish 
tears. Very absent-minded she appeared to Totty and more than once 
her random answers called forth a repetition of the question and a lengthy 
explanation was necessary to satisfy the exacting baby. "Now Totty, 
mamma will lay j'ou in jour crib, where 3'ou'll be so nice and cool and I 
know you'll go to sleep like a good boy" she said, patting the little white 
robed form in his bed. "Mamma wants to finish her letter to papa." 
Turning from the bed she noticed that her watch hung in a most conspi- 
cious place over the dressing table. Taking it she dropped it in a drawer 
under a pile of clothing and thought, "supppose I should need a weapon 
tonight, what can I find to protect mj'self. Ah, the very thing" as her 
eyes fell on a pair of sharp scissors on the bureau, and with a satisfied 
look she put them under her pillow. "Yes, darling, yes" to something 
she hadn't the remotest idea what from the talkative Tottj'. "Why 
mamma" and he looked at her in a puzzled way. "What did you say 
sweet?" bending over him, gently putting the chubb}' legs elevated in the 
air. "I asked you mamma if Babe could talk and you said yes, and he 
tant. " "Of course not" replied his mother," why do you ask such silly 
questions when you know better?" "Didn't you know mamma?' eyeing 
her curiously. "What made you ask that question dear? "well, B'rer 
Rabbit an B'rer Fox an B'rer Wolf could talk. "Go to sleep Totty, don't 
say another word or I shall write to papa that 3'ou are getting to be a 
naughty boy. 


Passing- out into the piazza Mrs. Land seated herself to enjoy the quiet 
and the refreshing- nig-ht air while from the g-arden came the merry voices 
of the children engaged in a most exciting- game of "Blind Man's Buff." 
The moon shone full and bright and the scent of the evening primroses 
stole up in g-entle puffs, while from the dark woods beyond, the whip-poor 
will's voice vociferated loudly, interspersed with the wierd notes of the 
"shivering owl." "I wonder why I feel so foolishly afraid" thought 
Mrs. Land, "I didn't know that I was such a coward. I must be ner- 
vous, perhaps I'm not well. I'm sure this midsummer weather is enough 
to make anyone feel badly; an then the merest trifles are always magnified 
at night into something dreadful. Mole hills in the day light loom into 
mountains^with the appearance of darkness. 


^ticcess/til Iblind People. 

REV. H. N. COUDEN, D. D., Chablan of the'house of Representa- 
tives and President of the Columbia Pol3'technic Institute for the Blind... 

Dr. Couden is an illustrious example of what it is possible for a blind 
person to accomplish Losing his sight while fighting in the ranks as a 
imion volunteer, he has successfullj'^ carved out a career for himself which 
would do credit to any man with the same opportunities and advantages 
who possessed his sight. 

It is related of Dr. Couden that while being borne from the battle field 
by his comrades one of them exclaimed: "Poor fellow! he will never 
see again. He might better be dead." The reply to this remark was 
characteristic of the man: 

Don't be too sure of that, boys; j^ou may hear of me again." They 
have heard from him again as the beloved and honored chaplain of the 
House of Representatives of the Congress of the United States. 

Fortunate, indeed, is it for the blind people that a man of his know- 
edge, experience and station" has espoused their cause, for having climbed 
the ladder rouned by round, following in turn the usual occupations re- 
sorted to by such blind people as refuse to be dependent, no one can be 
better fitted to counsel those whom the Columbia Polj'technic Institute 
seeks to benefit than its honored president. 

Public Opinion-Current Comment. 


France and England have taken a decided step toward the abolition 
of war, as a means of settling- international disputes. The treaty recen- 
tly effected, recognizes the principle of arbitration by The Hague Tribu- 
nal in all questions which shall arise between the two countries, except 
questions which may be considsidered as touching the honor of either 


Politics in England are undergoing a shakeup. such as has not been 
experienced in manj-^ years. The bomb-shell exploded by the resignation 
of Joseph Chamberlain and his advocacj' of protective tariff and the de- 
claration of Lord Rosebery , that he is still for free trade, calls for a new 
alignment, and the two contending, newlj' formed parties, are showing 
such signs of heat that they will not be very likely to shake hands over 
the chasm, when Parliament and the Irish members, inculdingthe balance 
over, will be in the saddle. No whit care they for tariffs, Preferential 
or otherwise; their concerns are local, not imperial. So they will probably 
say: "Give us Home Rule, or something else that we very much want," 
and will vote for which ever part}' assents. 

The latest advices show that Mr. Chamberlain is making a strong and 
successful fight, against Great Britain's long established polic3^ of free 


Russia and Japan are still confronting each other, like two school-boys 
each with a chip on his shoulder,daring the other to knock it off. 
Russia knows that Uncle Sam is looking on with considerable interest 
and a little sternness showing in his face, for he doesn't quite like the wa\' 
Russia is keeping the promise to evacuate Manchuria, and he begins 
to suspect that he is being fooled, which is not very flattering to his pride. 

How long this situation will last, is still a matter of conjecture. Not 
only have the Russians retained their position in Manchuria; they are 
strengthening it. Last week they re-occupied Muckden, which is one 
of the ports to be opened by the new treaty between the United States 
and China, 1,500 Russian soldiers taking possession of the official build- 
ings, barricading the gates, and evicting the Chinese authorities. 

The pretext for the reoccupation is stated as follows: The Russians 
employed a brigand, who was accused of many crimes against the 
Chinese, as chief of one of the irregular bands of police they are organ- 


izing in Manchuria. The Chinese authorities repeatedly requested the 
surrender of this man, and the Russians recently g^ave him up. There- 
upon a Chinese officer beheaded the brig-and without giving him a trial 
When this became known the Russians demanded the execution of this 
officer within five days, giving as an alternative the seizure of Mukden. 
The Chinese Foreign Office was engotiating with the Russian Minis- 
ter on the matter, and offered to banish the officer in question, pleading 
that he had exceeded his intructions, and to remove the tatai, his super- 
ior, from office. There was a misunderstanding as to the time limit se 
for these negotiations; the Chinese thought it expired Oct. 31. Before the 
negotiations were completed Russia had fulfilled her threat to reoccupy 

The incident has created an unfavorable imprssion in -Western Europe 
and the United States. One interpretation is that Japan has already 
agreed to permit Russia a free hand in Manchuria in return for conces- 
sions in Korea. However thai may be. the relations between Japan and 
Russia are superficially less alarming than the}' were two weeks ago. 


Very manj- people are getting into the habit , when any public question 
comes up for consideration, of asking, "what does Grover Cleveland think 
about it?" ^Lnd they are seldom disappointed in their hope or expectation 
that he will be heard from, and in fact, now that he has positively refused 
to accept the Democrjitic nomination for Presidency, it will no t be too 
great a stretch of the imagination, to think of him as rising above the 
influence of party bias, in his council and patriotic words of wisdom. 
In a speech recently delivered in Chicago, he is reported as saying in 
part: — "The withdrawal of wholesome sentiment and patriotic activity 
from politcal action on the part of those who are indifferent to their duty 
or foolhardy in their optimism opens the way for a ruthless and unrelent- 
ing enemy of our free institutions. The abandonment of our country's 
watch towers by those who should never sleep directly invite the stealthy 
approach and the pillage and loot of the forces of selfishness and greed." 
Now that we have become the guardians of the interests and prosperity 
of the inhabitants of our newly acquired territory in the Philippines, 
Porto Rico and Hawaii, it behooves us to see to it that they are not made 
the victims of a commercialism, which rides rough-shod over the principles 
of humanity charity and good government. 

There are now only five Revolutionary War pensioners living, three hav- 
ing died during the past year. The survivors are Hannah Newell Parrett 
reiding at Boston Mass. ,■• 03 years of age; Esther S. Damon, Plymouth 
Union Vt. 89 years of age; Sarah C. Hurlbutt, Li Little Marsh, Pa , 85 
years of age; and Rhoda Augusta Thompson Woodbury, Conn. 82 years 

of age. 

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Columbia Polytechnic Institute for the Blind, 

1808 H STREET, N. W. 


REV. H. N. COUDEN. President. 


F. E. CLEAVELAND, Secretary 

One Dollar ©c Year, - - Ten Cents a Copy. 


Contents tor 2)ecembei% 1903. 

Trip Around the World ------ 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and their equally 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 1 

Four out of Five, vi^ho serve the Xing' 

(A Serial Story) - - Edward Franklin 6 

F\-icts of Interest 16 

Mr. Dreen's Cashier (A Short Story) 17 

Theatrical Comment 23 

Say Not Good-Night (Poem) 25 

Stanley Medhurst's Wooing (A Short Story) 26 

Children's Department (A Lucky Donkey) 34 

Pinehurst (A Serial Story) • 35 

The Carpenter Bird (Poem) 36 

Public Opinion and Current Comment 37 

Successful Blind People 46 

Gen. Edward F. Jones, of Binghamton, N. Y. , and Hon. Henry 
Fawcett, late Postmaster-General of England. 

David Heron's Temptation (A Short Story) 47 

A Mysterious Post-Card (A Short Story) 56 

We desire to call the attention of the readers of TALKS and TALES 
to articles which appear bj' the following occasional contributors, all of 
whom are blind: 

H. R. W. Miles, Mary E. Sanford, Charlotte M. Hinman, Alice A. 
Holmes, H. Stennett Rogers, Alfred S. Hosking. Alexandria Cameron, 
Roberta Anna Griffth, Rev. Ghon el Howie, Syria; Helen Marr Camp- 
bell, Clarence Hawkes, Mamie Ray, Hary Forrester, J. Newton Breed, 
J. B. Kaiser, Nina Rhoades, Fanny A. Kimball, Edward Franklin, 
Harry T. Nisbet, Sherman C. Smith, Prof. E. P. Crowell. 





tlalhe nnb tTalee, 

Vol. VII. December, 1903 No III 

,^ i^T^OUND THE x^^ 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and Their Equally 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 

"We are about to leave Russia, but our visit to this countrj' has not been 
without its lessons. In a way the great problem presented to the Czar, 
who unquestionably desires the elevation of his people, is not unilke the 
problem presented in our own countrj' by the abolishment of negro salvery. 

We undertook to jump the bondsman of the South from a condition of 
servitude, to that of self-governing freemen. 

Following the abolition of serfdom in Russia, an attempt was made to 
substitute the knout of the master which enforced industry, as an alterna- 
tive to extreme physical pain, for self-gvernment, after the fashion made 
much of in the theories of the socialists. In other words the serfs were 
to be their own masters. They were to have the land parcelled out to 
them by elders of their own choosing in accordance with their needs; 
that is, a man having a large family would have assigned to him a pro- 
portionatey larger piece of land to till than his neighbor with a small 
family, and every few years the elders made a new partition of land, owing 
to changes in the community by deaths, marriages births, or immigration 
to other parts of the country. This repartition sounds very just, and even 
pratical, to one who has never seen the peasant. As a matter of fact, it 
is the one feature of modern Russia that makes improvement impossible, 
for is it likely that we would work hard upon a piece of land if next j'ear 
it were to pass out of our control? Is it reasonable to suppose that an 
ignorant peasant is going to carefully manure a patch, the benefit of which 
is to be reaped by his neighbor? In the Russian village system the peas- 
ant who has done his work well often finds that he has to exchange his 
field for the neglected one of a neighboring drunkard. Little by little the 
energy of the most public-spirited evaporates and each seeks to get what 


he can from the soil with the least possible exenditure of work. In the 
days of serfdom there was a master who looked to it that the fields were 
porperly tilled and the soil not exhausted. Today there is no such check 
upon the peasant's idleness. 

Whoever reads this no doubt says to himself: "But why does not the 
peasant shake himself free from this stupid community, and buy land and 
raise himself to the position of an independent farmer?" 

The almost impossibility of such a course may be seen, when it is un- 
derstood that all such communities, usually numbering about two hun- 
dred souls, are subject to the will of their elders who have power to ban- 
ish them to Siberia, if they are even suspected of desiring- to operate inde- 

They cannot even leave the community without the consent of the elders. 
The elders are alone responsible to the government for the payment of 
taxes, and the enforcement of good order, and nothing is so dreaded as 
the appearance of the government police, commissioned to institute an in- 
quiry prompted by the perpetration of a murder or some other heinous 
offence, and as this dread is often taken advantage of, by petty police of- 
ficials to wring money out of the communities, whatever incentive there 
remains to make the community itself a prosperous one, is taken away. 
As an illustration of the practical workings of this system we relate the 
following story told by an eye witness. 

One fine winter's morning sleigh-bells jingled in our village. A police- 
captain and his lieutenant made their appearance wrapped up in furs. 

Behind them was a mysterious bundle covered with a cloth. The peasants 
gathered qucikly about the strangers, anticipating nothing good from a 
police-ofi^icer in their midst. The captain alighted slowly from his sleigh 
eyed his audience sharply, while he calculated the amount he could wring 
from them; then said sternly: "Where is your village elder?" 
"Here, your grace," answered a white-haired venerable peasant, bowing 

"Your name;" continued the police-captain. 

" Ivan Ivanovitch, '' replied the elder. 

"Ivan Ivanovitch," said the captain impressively addressing the con- 
gregation of trembling peasants, "A terrible crime has been committed 
close to his village on your land." 

"In God's name what?" asked the old man turning pale. 

"See then for yourself," said the police-captain: and with that he 
threw off the cover and revealed to the panic-stricken gaze of the simpe vil- 
lagers the mutilated body of a dead man. 

"This is a frightful crime," continued the captain, "and there must be 
a dreadful retribution. Your community is responsible for this murder, 
and must bear the consequences. There must be a commission sent here; 
the matter must be investigated. 

"Anything but that!" begged the village elder piteously stroking and 
kissing the captain's coat. He knew too well that such a commission 
meant ruinous fines, to say nothing of floggings for every witness. 


The peasants with one voice joined in the appeal: "Anything but a 
judicial inquirj'." 

"But the matter is very serious" said the captain; "An inquiry must 
be held." 

"But perhaps you can Iielp us out of the trouble," said the elder per- 
"Perhaps!" Mused the captain, "But it will cost me a lot of money." 

"What do you want us to pay?" asked the elder. 

"One hundred rubles may do it," said the captain. 

"One hundred rubles," screamed the desperate peasnats. 

"We haven't got so much in the whole place!" you want to ruin us! 

"Take fift3%" pleaded the venerable elder. 

"What, you rascals! do you take me for a beggar that you seek to 
dicker with me? However, you seem to be poor; I shall insist only on 

"The peasants agreed sadly to the bargain; the money was paid; the 
captain and his lieutenant climbed into the sleigh once more, and drove 
away with the corpse to next village. Here they repeated the same per- 
formance, and as long as the cold weather lasted that corpse represented 
at least fifty rubles out of every village community it visited. 

The peasants are always read^' to be fooled or fleeced by anyone who 
comes along dressed as a policeman or a priest. 

Speaking of priests, we are reminded of what once transpired in one 
of these villaees, as related to us by an eminent American traveler, who, 
on account of the frank manner in which he wrote of his travels and ob- 
servations in Russia, has been prohibited from ever visiting that country 
again. The story serves to show one of the evils of an established 
church, whose authority maj^ sometimes be exerted even more tyrannically 
than the authority of emisaries of the Czar. 

One fine day, when the sun was shining kindly, the flowers smiling 
sweetly, and the birds proclaiming the goodness of God, a panting lad 
rushed into the place shouting "Black Day!" The peasants flew from the 
huts to learn more of the sad news; mothers clutched their babies, fathers 
clinched their teeth, even little children realized that danger was near, 

"What have you seen?" asked the mother. 

"A priest with a district inspector in one wagon, and another wagon 
full of police." 

A thick cloud of dust appeared between the last houses of the village, 
and soon the two wagons drew up in the centre of the wretched place. 
Out jumped the priest, behind him stood the soldiers, one of whom held 
a rope. 

"Here you," said the priest sternly, pointing to the nearest villager, 
"show me your certificate of having come to communion?" 

"Dearest Father," answered the peasant, "l haven't g-ot it." 

"You dog!" continued the Gospel Messenger, "why did you stay away 
from communion?" 

"The harvest, hard work, my wife was ill. Oh, forgive me, dear little 


father!" cried the wretched man, and falling- on his knees, he clutched 
the hem of the priest's robe. 

"I'll teach you to find time," said the priest significatly. "Twenty- 
five will suit him — eh?" said he, turning to the district inspector, whose 
military, cap, rows of brass buttons, belt, boots, and sword gave a strange 
military character to the missionary enterprise. 

The inspector had been a non-commissioned officer in the armj', had 
served in the Turkoman campaign, and understood the Oriental methods 
of earning- money by official means. He and the priest were working- this 
route on joint profits, and there was no danger, therefore, that the secu- 
lar arm of the law would be raised to shield the crouching heretic, from 
the sentence of the ecclesiastical one. 

The priest's query was answered by an appproving nod, and the police 
servants promptl}' produced from beneath the second wagon a bench con- 
structed with particular reference to the dimensions of a human bodj'. 
The peasant was roped down to this with a dexterity born of constant 
practice, and a police soldier commenced to lay on the blows with a heavy 
lash. At the ninth blow the back of the priest's victim suggested the 
meat on the butcher's block, and at the tenth he roard out: 

"Dearest father, have mercy! I will pay what I can." 

The police-inspector ordered a halt, and the priest asked gently: 

"Well, what will 3'ou pay for your sins, my sweet child?" 

'Five rubles!" groaned the victim. 

"That's a fine joke," laughed the police-inspector. "You take us for 
fools. Ha, ha! only five rubles. Go on with the flogging. And the 
hissing lash cut deeper into the peasant's back. 

"You shall have ten!" roared the peasant. 

"Nonsense; go on with the flogging," answered the police-inspector. 

"Twenty!" finally came from the half dead body on the butcher's bench. 

The priest leaned his mouth to the poor fellow's ear and said insinuat- 

"Let me intercede for you; make it twenty-five — that is a nice round 
sum; it breaks my heart to have you sufl^er. Shall we say twenty-five?" 

The peasant could only nod his head feebly in sign of assent. The 
soldiers unstrapped him, his shirt was thrown over his bleeding body, 
and away he staggered to his hovel. The little money he had saved in 
the hopes of buying a cow, or perhaps paying off arrears of taxes was 
taken from him, and put into the pockets of the priest and his official 

What we have just related happened some time ago. The massacre of 
the Jews however, the horrible details of which, led to a remonstrance by 
the Hebrews of the United States, occurred more recentlj', and while the 
Czar in all probability is not directly repsonsible for either, the existence 
of such a state of things in this age, is far from excusable. 

Summary punishment of officials who connive at, or tolerate such 
tyranuy and injustice, the dis-establishment of the Greek church, as an 
arm of the government, and the introduction of the true missionary spirit 


as exemplified by the earnest and God-fearing- christian teachers would 
go far to remedy these evils. 

Let us hope that the dawn of a new era is heralded b}^ the development 
of the varied manufacturing industries of which we have received recent 
intelligence, is in sight. 

It is of especial interest that nearly half of the agricultural machinery 
now exported by the United States, goes to Russia, and we hear that St. 
Petersburg is to have a world's fair devoted to child education, its growth, 
its achievements and its most advanced methods. 

What the outcome of this enterprise will be towards improving the op- 
portunities of the seventeen million Russian children now without school 
advantages remains to be seen. 

From Russia we go next to Africa, which is now the theatre for the 
world's pioneer work. What North America was two hundred years ago 
Africa is today, and before the end of the present century, the barbarous 
tribes of Africa will have made way for the advancing phalanx of the 
white man as have the Indians in America. 

Four out of Five, 

Who Serve The King* 

'By Edt&fard FranHJin. 

All 'Rights "Reser-Oed. 

Chapter VII. 

When Edward was admitted to the bar and took the oath to 
uphold the law without fear or favor, to do his whole duty as an 
ofhcer of the court and a public servant, he did so conscientiously. 
His idea of legal ethics differed materially from the idea enter- 
tained by many of his brother lawyers. 

As a law student he had at times reason to believe that certain 
members of the profession were ready to place their conscience 
as well as their ability at the disposal of their clients. He had also 
observed that there were those who were willing to make profit 
out of the passions of litigents, and to substitute shrewdness, or 
what is commonly termed "sharp practice," for honest and faith- 
ful service consistent with the rights of all concerned. All this he 
deemed unworthy of the high calling of his profession. In short, 
his high ideal was that of a Christian knight, in the days of chivalry, 
who, enlisting on the side he deemed to be in the right, would lose 
his right hand rather than take any mean or unknightly advan- 
tage of a foe. Again, he saw no reason why that rule of ethics 
which bound the profession of physicians and surgeons to graciously 
and uncomplainingly administer to the wants of the poor without 
hope of reward, should not obtain with the legal profession. He 
was not slow to observe that, though the laws were fair enough 
in the main, where litigents were evenly pitted against each other 
with respect to resources and means, the very forms and so-called 
safe guards were weapons of oppression when one litigent chanced 
to be rich and the other poor. His very first case after being ad- 
mitted to the bar, was the case of a young servant girl with whom 
an arbitrary and over-bearing employer had become unreason- 
ably vexed and discharged without notice, retaining a imonth's 
wages as an ofl;set for broken crockerv, for which the girl was in 


nowise responsible. The employer was the keeper of a fashionable 
cafe, where the "smart set" were wined and dined. At a ban- 
quet which called into requisition all the tables of the establish- 
ment, one of the legs of the kitchen table, upon which the unwashed 
crockery was wont to be piled, was badly damaged. The servant 
had called her employer's attention to this on several occasions, 
but he had given no heed; and one day, when the kitchen maid 
was busy at dish-washing, the table was loaded beyond its strength 
with dishes brought in by the waiters, and it came down with a 
crash. The girl felt the injustice of her dismissal but stood ap- 
palled when her employer refused to pay her, her hard earned wages. 
It was the first time she had ever had any occasion to invoke the 
aid of the law. She entered the first law office she same to, and 
told her story. Edward Crawford happened to be in the office in 
quest of a certain law report which was not to be found in his or 
his father's library. He arose to go as the girl entered, but Squire 
Topham, as he was called, judging from the appearance of the 
young woman, that the business was not of the confidential sort, 
bade Edward be seated. After the girl had finished her story, 
Squire Topham, blowing a puff from his cigar, proceeded with his 
inquiries as follows : 

" How much did you say there was due you? " 

"Twelve dollars, sir" 

"And you want a suit brought to recover it?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Have you any money with which to pay me a retainer?" 

"Naw, sir; That is all I have." 

"Have you any friends who could give a bond to prosecute 
this case and pay all damages if you should lose your case?" 

"Naw, sir. I have no friends that would do that, and that's 
comin' to me is all I have ." 

"And you haven't that yet," said 'Squire Topham with a 

"Naw sir, the more the pity, that." 

"Well, my good woman," said the squire, "It does seem a 
little hard, but I don't see as we can do anything for you. The 
law says you must furnish a bond to prosecute, and if you can't 
do that, you'll have to make the best of it and let it go." 

"But can't I speak to the judge about it?" 

"The judge can do nothing for you until the case is brought 
regularly before him. That is the law." 


With this the girl burst into tears and left the office. 

Edward, thanking 'Squire Topham for the use of the report, 
followed, and soon overtook her. In a kindly tone he bade her 
stop her weeping, saying, "I will go with you and call on your 
employer; perhaps he will think better of his decision." 

The girl glanced up gratefully into his face and with a "Thank 
you, sir," led the way to the office. 

As he entered, the proprietor, guessing his errand, at first 
ignored him altogether, but finally rising and starting to go into 
another room, said, " I am too busy to talk with you, sir." 

"Perhaps you would prefer to talk with an officer," said 


"What do you know about an officer, you young turkey-cock? 
I discharged that girl this morning because I had a mind to, and 
if you wish to pick up the matter and go bonds for her I'll give you 
a dusty hunt." saying which, he turned on his heels and walked 

This remark showed very clearly that the keeper of the cafe 
was relying on the friendless position of the young girl, and her 
inability to furnish bond. He gave the girl a dollar for her im- 
mediate necessities and told her to call at his office in the morning. 
That night he talked over the affair with his father. The old 
judge after hearing the account replied, — "Well, my boy, that's 
a good case for you to begin on, but I'm afraid if you follow up that 
sort of thing you will have more clients than dollars. I confess 
I have been a little injudicious in that way myself. You may put 
me down as bondsman for the girl, however, and teach that insolent 
fellow a lesson." 

On the following day, shortly after business hours, the' keeper 
of the cafe, somewhat crestfallen entered the off.ce of Crawford & 
Crawford and inquired why his cafe was under attachment. 

Edward politely informed him, when he replied, "So you really 
mean to fight thiscase do 3^ou?" 

" I really do, sir! " 

" How much will it take to settle it where it is? " 

Edward made an estimate of the officer's fees and the price 
of the writ, and mentioned the sum of twenty dollars. 

With this the restaurant keeper fired up again, saying, "I'll 
pay forty first, "and left the office. He found another lawyer who 
accepted ten dollars to defend the case. The magistrate believed 
the girl's story, and found that she was in no way responsible for 
the broken dishes. The keeper of the cafe was given an opportunity 
to pay the additional costs of the trial, which, with the fee he had 
paid his own attorney, relieved him of the forty dollars he had 


Chapter VIII 

It was a glorious July day. Two days before, Edward Craw- 
ford had received word from little Marie, in a letter from Mrs. 
Fairchild, that she was coming around the next day to take her 
big brother out on another yachting excursion. There was to be 
great merrymaking, followed by a grand illumination at Rocky 
Point ; and little Marie had said in her mamma's letter, "You must 
be sure to go, for you know I want you to, and I shan't have a bit 
good time at all if you don't go with me. I am going to tell you 
all about the fireworks, so please don't say no." 

As Edward listened to this message his heart warmed toward 
the little child, and he once more felt her tiny arms about his neck 
and the tears upon his face. 

"Dear little heart," he exclaimed, "I wouldn't disappoint her 
for the world. Her love for me is so sweet and fragrant that it 
seems to take the place of the flowers whose bloom and beauty I 
can no longer look upon, and I would rather listen to her childish 
chatter than -the eloquence of the silver tongued orator. Yes, 
sweetheart, we will have a holiday together and you shall tell me 
about the fireworks." Saying which he directed Griggs to write 
the following reply at his dictation : 

"Dear little sister; — Your big brother accepts your kind and 
thoughtful invitation, and next Wednesday shall be a big red-letter 
day for both of us. Let us hope it will be as bright and sunny as 
the face of my little friend. Tell papa and mama that I shall look 
forward with pleasant anticipations to another delightful day on 

the 'Gypsie." 

Lovingly, your brother, 


About nine o'clock Edward heard the shrill whistle of the 
"Gypsie,' as she entered the mouth of the Massasoit. As the entire 
family had been included in Mrs. Fairchild's invitation and all were 
readv, the party walked briskly down to the dock and arrived 
there just as the graceful and beautiful yacht, with all her flags 
and streamers flying, came up to the dock. As the bell of the pilot 
gave the signal for shutting ofi steam, the boom of the small brass 


cannon she carried on her deck gave a salute of welcome to her 
passengers. Marie was the first to land, and, running up to Ed- 
ward she took him by the hand as before, and, chattering like a 
magpie, led him along on to the gang-plank, telling him when to 
step up and step down, with as much care and responsibility as 
if she had been many hears older. 

No sooner was the party aboaid than the boom of the cannon 
was again heard, followed by the jingle of the bell in the engine 
room, and the churning of the water under the keel of the " Gypsie ;" 
a perceptable quiver, and the thing of beauty was alive and began 
to plough through the water with the energy of a young giant. 
How grand was the breeze which fanned away the fever heat, from 
the sweltering faces, for old Sol by this time was beginning to send 
down his fiercest rays. As they steamed out into the sound Ed- 
ward's ears were greeted with the exclamations of delight from all on 
board, for they were out just in time to witness the passing of the 
White Squadron which had been ordered to parade off Newport. 
Slowly, but majestically the vessels filed by, and, as Edward listened 
to the exclamations of the members of the party, he was surprised 
and delighted with the picture his imagination drew for him. It 
was entirely a new sensation. Never before, except in dreams, 
had he known what it was to see with the eyers of the mind. It 
seemed to him that he was looking down from some elevated station, 
for he could see the "Gypsie" dancing along over the white-capped 
waves. To the left, the irregular coast line of the main-land, to the 
right, the long verdure covered strip of an island. Just in front of 
the "Gypsie" a school of frolicksome porpoises was disporting in 
the waves, while far to the eastward were a score or more of fish- 
hawks and sea gulls circling in the air and showing to the eye of the 
experienced fisherman, by their presence, the location of a small 
army of the finny tribe on its annual pilgrimage. Here and there 
the sails of smaller crafts, and now, ship after ship of the line, with 
the glorious stars and stripes waving out in all their beauty, and 
the rows of port holes, the frowning cannon, the uniformed marines. 
Surely these great war engines, as they loomed up in all their 
power and grandeur, were but symbols of the great and powerful 
nation which had sprung into existence in a little more than a cen- 
tury, now leading the van, with civilization, Christianity, humanity, 
liberty, and fraternity following in her wake, as do these great 
vessels follow in the wake of the flag-ship. 


Edward suddenly awakened from his dream by Marie asking 
him where the big ships were going, and what they were for. He 
replied, "I don't know where they are going, my dear, and I cannot 
explain what they are for better than to ask you a question." 
What does your papa keep Ponto for?" 

"You mean my big dog? Why, papa said he was to keep 
bad men called burglers away, and take care of me." 

Well, dear, those great big ships are like so many great big 
Ponto's, and those great round things, are called cannons. You 
know the little brass cannon on the deck; they are like it, only they 
make a much louder noise, and those men fire them at other big 
ships, which are worse than burglers, for they come for to kill 
people and burn their houses, and they must be kept away by these 
big ships of ours. Do you understand little sweetheart'?' 

"I guess so; mama read me a story yesterday, about a bad 
man who carried away a beautiful young lady and locked her up 
in a great stone house he called his castle, and how a beautiful and 
noble prince, whose name was Armand, came and made the bad 
man give her up, and took her back to her home and friends, and 
I told mamma you was my prince, and I was going to call you 
Armand, and she said I might, and I can, can't I?" 

"Yes, little sister, you may call me anything vou please." 
Just then a call from Mrs. Fairchild sent her tripping away to the 
cabin, for her mamma had promised her she should help with the 
cream and cake and other dainties brought for the refreshment of 
the company. 

When Rocky Point was reached, the company on board the 
" Gypsie " found a multitude of people, as this day had been selected 
for a number of excursions. The day was passed, as all such days, 
in merry-making. 

There were many novel ways of amusing children, some of 
which the older people joined in with equal zest. Then came 
the illumination and fire-works, and, true to her promise, little 
Marie was on hand to tell Edward all about them. Amusing in- 
deed was her description of the rockets, roman candles and the 
various devices employed in the pyrotechnic display to delight the 

At length, the whistles and bells of the waiting steamers noti- 
fied the great mass of humanity that it was time to begin their 
homeward journey, and in a few minutes a seething, ' struggling 


crowd of men, women and children, were rushing, crowding and 
jostUng each other to get on board. The voices of officers and 
guardsmen were heard warning the crowd to keep back, and 
finally boat after boat followed each other, loaded to their utmost 
capacity. The last boat had left the landing, and more than a 
thousand people were left behind. The boats which had brought 
the passengers from early morning until after noon had been making 
hourly trips from the termination of the different roads to the 
pleasure resort, and many were the anxious inquiries as to whether 
the excursion trains would wait for the boats to return for another 
load of passengers. 

Marie and Mrs. Fairchild both became interested in the prob- 
lem. A mother and her three little children had been separated 
from the father, and, as he could not be found, it was supposed 
that he had boarded one of the boats, in the belief that his wife and 
children were safely aboard. The children, taking alarm, began 
to cry, which excited Marie's sympathy, and soon the mother 
was explaining the situation to Edward. 

Just then her eldest boy caught sight of his father and ran to 
fetch him. He soon joined them and explained that he had been 
separated from his wife and children in the crush of the crowd, 
as it surged towards the boats. He said there were eighteen or 
twenty more of the Elmdale people, who had been left. Edward 
directed him to hunt them all up and bring them to him. When 
they were all assembled, Edward found several acquantances, and, 
taking Jack Eldridge, an old school-mate of his,' by the arm, he 
bade the others await his return, explaining that he was going to 
hunt up a telephone and try to hold the train until the boat could 
make another trip. 

When Edward returned and reported that the train would not 
wait, the company was very much cast down, and when its mem- 
bers learned that the regular fare back to Elmdale was four dollars, 
their consternation was complete, for none of them had provided 
for such a contingency, to say nothing of the hotel bills over night. 

The judge becoming fatigued, had been accompanied by Mary 
to the " Gypsie " before the rush for the boats began, Edward sent 
word to him by Mrs. Fairchild that he would accompany the left- 
over excursionists back to Elmdale and see them safel}^ through. 
He then signalled for the attention of all and bade them stop worry- 


ing. He told them the railroad company was wholly to blame 
and that it would be obliged to make it right, that he would go 
with them to Providence, and see that they were all taken care of 
for the night, and go home with them on the train next day. No 
money would be required, as he would pay the bills and get the 
outlay back from the company, which was responsible for their 
being left. 

All were overjoyed at this announcement, and Marie, who 
had been pacifying her little charge with assurances that her Ar- 
mand would make the mean old boat captain take them home, 
now came running up to Edward, gave him a hug and a kiss, saying, 
" I told the little girl you would do it." 

Edward kissed her and told her he was glad she thought he 
could do so much, but now she inust go with her mamma and tell 
his father and Aunt Mary all about it. She promised to do so, 
kissed him good-night, and ran to her mamma, who was waiting 
for her. 

Edward found no difficulty in securing accommodations for 
the people over night, and they were all on hand at the station early 
the next morning. After purchasing a regular ticket for himself 
he directed the others to hand their excursion tickets to him, and 
enjoined them all to tell the conductor, as he came along, to look 
to him for their tickets and not to move from their seats, without 
he told them to. In about ten minutes after the train was under 
way, the conductor came along. He had divined what was in the 
wind, and, like a war horse which scents the battle from afar, was 
ready for the encounter. 

"Are you the party to whom I ain to look for the fares of these 
twenty passengers back here, sir?" 

"Yes, sir," said Edward; here are the tickets," and he began 
to explain, when he was cut short by "I have heard that story 
before, sir; I cannot accept these tickets; they will have to pay 
full fare or get off at the next station." 

"They will not do that, sir ; and I advise you to telegraph ahead 
for orders before you try putting them off." 

"I know my business, young man, without any advice from 
you," and, turning back, announced in a voice loud enough to be 
heard by all the passengers, all "you people will have to pay your 
fares or get off when the train stops." 


When the conductor had passed into the next car Edward 
told Jack Eldridge to quietly tell the members of the party to keep 
their seats and not be afraid. They were not to resist if the con- 
ductor attempted to put them off by force, but let, him carry them 
off bodily. Maggie Murphy, the cook at the Elmdale House, who 
weighed about 260 pounds, raised a laugh by exclaiming, " Musha, 
but won't that conductor have a job liftin' me off the car." 

When the conductor re-entered the car Edward, whose seat 
was near the door, overheard the brakeman say, " Better go slow, 
Tom, that is old Judge Crawford s son, and I guess he knows what 
he is about." 

When the train stopped at the next station no attempt was 
made to put them off; but when the conductor came through again 
he took a seat with Edward and, in a gentlemanly way, said, "I 
understand you are a lawyer." 

Edward assented and, the conductor went on to say, "You 
ought to know that I am obliged to follow out my instructions. 
If I do not collect these fares I shall either have to pay for them 
myself or run the risk of losing my job." 

"Now you talk like a man," said Edward, "here is my card 
and if the company makes you account for these fares after you 
have explained the situation, let me know, and I will send you 
my check for the an'iount." 

The conductor thanked Edward, took the card and went his 
way. He evidently concluded to take Edward's advice, however, 
and telegraphed ahead, for when the train arrived at Elmdale, 
the division superintendent was at the staiton to meet it, and, as 
Edward alighted, he was introduced by the conductor. After 
listening to Edward's explanation, he said. "The right way would 
have been to have let the passenger pay the regular fare back and 
put a claim in to the company for reimbursement." 

Edward replied that he thought otherwise; he was acquainted 
with the usual fate of such claims. He showed the superintendent 
a statement of the company's hotel expenses over night, plus half a 
day's lost time for fourteen men, aggregating fifty-one dollars, and 
asked the superintendent if he thought the company would allow 

The superintendent smiled, wished him success and bade him 
good-morning. Edward then secured the address of each member 


of the party, with a promise that they would respond whenever they 
were wanted. He then shook hands with them all around, and, 
accompanied by Jack Eldridge, called on the company's attorney, 
who met him with a very suave manner, took the statement, and 
said he would report later. Edward rejoined that he should expect 
to hear from it within a week. 

"So soon?" said the attorney, ironically. 

"Yes," said Edward, "that will give you time to look up and 
verify my statement of the facts;' ' saying which, he bade the attor- 
ney good-morning, and went with Jack around to his office, where, 
in the mail awaiting him, he found a Government warrant for a 
thousand dollars, for the part he had taken in breaking up Ergon- 
sorat's expedition and frustrating his plans. "Well!" said Ed- 
ward, "one thing evens up another. I guess I shall have consider- 
able business on hand of the charity sort, before I bring that rail- 
road to time; but this check will make things easy. 

To be Continued* 

FcLCt4: <^f Interest. 

One-sixth of the land owners in Great Britain are women. 

Last year America imported onlj' 8,000,000 bushels of potatoes. 

The Southern States have 27,000 saloons, while New York has 34,000. 

It is said that Texas alone markets $50,000,000 worth of cattle annuallj'. 

Twenty-four persons living in Country Tipperary, Ireland, are centen- 

Women are about to be admitted to graduate at Dublin University. 
Japanese is the latest language to be added to the list at the University 
of Chicago. 

A new lighthouse costing over $2,500,000 is in course of erection at 

The giraffe, whom nature has equipped to enjoy a drink, is less a 
drinker than the donkej'. 

The United States uses a third more coffee than all the rest of the 
world put together 

The population of Ireland, which fifty years ago was over 8,000,000, is 
now less than 4,500,000. 

Rome has a water supply of 200,000,000 gallons a day, London only 
160,000,000, and Paris 900,000,00. 

The Bodleian Library at Oxford is just three centuries old. It is the 
largest university library in the world. 

Foreign countries are buying $5,500,000 worth of our cash registers and 
$3,500,000 worth of our typewriters a year. 

Of the 702 ships which cleared last year foom Australian ports 6,308 
flew the British flag. Only 724 were foreign. 

Nineteen men in this year's class at Yale and fully as many at Harvard 
and Columbia earned all their expenses. 

A collection of stainps formed by G. Owen Wheeler, of the London 
Philatelic Societ}', was sold by auction recently for $5,575. 

According to the monks of the Hospice of St. Bernard, their famous 
dogs save on an average 20 lives a year on the mountain. 

Golden eagles are increasing every year in the Scottish Highlands, 
owing to the efforts made by large land owners for their preservation. 

The only states which have capitols in large cities are Massachusetts, 
Indiana, Virginia, Minnesota, Georgia and C(>lorado. 

The cotton phmt first came to America from Asia; now the greater part 
of the Central Asian crop is grown from American seed. 

American telegraph instruments click in Siberia and in Italy, while 
our telephones are "helloed" through by the Chinese, East India men 
and Egyptians. 

Mr. Dreen^s Cashier. 

"Is it that you think I am too old to be a suitable companion for 
you?" he said, leaning his gray head on his hands as he looked tenderly 
across the table at her serious face. " I'm not so old as I look, my dear; 
I'ra not so old that I should not find my best pleasure in making you 
happy. Perhaps I have not the ardor, the enthusiasm of a man of — 
say, twenty-seven; I know I haven't, but I've all the love, the pride, the 
tenderness of a youthful lover, Jessy; and you know, though perhaps I 
shouldn't mention it, the position and facilities for being happy which 
I can offer are not to be had with many young men." 

"It's not a question of age, Mr. Dreen," said Jessy, soberly and 
reluctantly, because she thereby narrowed the field of his speculation 
as to her reason in refusing to marry a merchant prince. 

Mr. Dreen was rather disconcerted by her answer. He had antici- 
pated that his age would weigh against him in his courtship of his young 
designer — it was the only objection he considered she could entertain 
to him which his money and devotion could not discount, for the girl, 
to his knowledge, was poor and almost friendless, dependent upon her 
paint-box for her livelihood. Not that he had wished to win her by the 
glamour of his wealth, but he thought it would sweep away prejudices 
which were unfair, for he was confident he could make her happy. 

"I'm not too old, then?" he said, after a pause. "I suppose some- 
one has forestalled me?" 

"It is hardly fair of you to cross-question me, Mr. Dreen," she said, 
a trifle indignant, "because my appreciation of all your kindness to me 
would naturally incline me to answer, even if our positions of employer 
and employe did not seem to make it incumbent on me to do so." 

" My dear young lady," said Dreen, with great gentleness, " you may 
stake your life that if I want to know who is the man your face has be- 
trayed your love for, it is because I wish you may be happy — because I 
take a great, deep interest in you and would like to be your confidant 
even about him whose future with you means my future without you. 
It's not because I am jealous of him and might seize an opprotunity of 
doing him a bad turn; I'm not that kind of man." 

"No, no; I know you're not," she said, hastily. "The truth is — 
the truth — I'm engaged to Mr. Canning." 

" My cashier!" 

She nodded, and drew her right glove on to hide her embarrassment. 
She felt not only Mr. Dreen's eyes, but the eyes of everyone in the tea- 
shop were searching her face. 

"We've been engaged ten months," she ventured to add. 

"So long! And when are you to be married?" 


"I — I don't_know for^certaiii. Dick is — is hoping that his position 
will improve first." 

"Very natural," said the merchant. 

"Of course, we could manage comfortably on what we both earn. 
At present I earn nearly as much as he does." 

"That reminds me," he said, absently. "I was discussing yotir 
salary with Mr. Brooker a day or two ago, and he suggested you were 
inadequately reinunerated. So at the end of the month you'll draw at 
the rate of a hundred and fifty." 

She bit her lip, at a loss what to say. The situation was so different 
from, any she had ever heard of that she knew not how to act up to it. 

"You're extremely kind," she stammered, at length, "but I think i 
am splendidly paid considering " 

"Considering what?" he said, sharply. 

"I'd rather not say, but I feel I must be frank with you. Consid- 
ering Mr. Canning, with great responsibilities, earns less." 

"Does he?" muttered Dreen, with a troubled air. "I'll speak to 
Mr. Brooker about it. I didn't know his salary was so low." 

He rose uneasily, cutting her short in her thanks. 

"You'll let me discharge the trifling bill, won't you?" he said. 
"And — those designs — you let me have them? . . . By the way, my 
dear, don't be constrained because of what I've said this afternoon. 
Forget it; I'm just a brotherly well-wisher in whom you may have 
every confidence. And — and — I feel guilty about Canning's salary; 
and I shouldn't like him to think I'd raised it because you'd told me 
how low it was. So perhaps you won't mention to him that the subject 
rose between us? . . . That's right. Good-bye. You'd better put 
yovir umbrella up; it's raining. Don't forget the designs, will you?" 

He turned and went eastwards. 

"What does it mean?" he muttered, angrily. "Is the fellow play- 
ing the fool with her? She earning nearly as much as he, indeed! Has 
he crammed her with that lie intentionally? If so, why? Why, I 
should like to know. Is it to discredit me in her eyes, or that he wishes 
to make her think he is not in a position to marry? Perhaps, he — oh, 
well, I'll get to the bottom of it. Dear me, gray hairs do make a differ- 
ence ! At the age of forty-eight I'm too old — too old to win the one woman 
who would be the wife I want." 

It was rather late when he got back to his office. The staff had 
gone, save for two members who reniained to work off some arrears of 
their duties. Mr. Brooker, the sub-manager, and his secretary were 
there, and both were surprised by their employer's appearance, as neither 
had ever known him return to the office so late in the day. 

"Brooker," said Dreen, "what is Canning's salary?" 

"Four htmdred." 

"Hum! You're sure?" 

"Perfectly. I can show you the passbook." 

"Your word's enough," replied the millionaire. 


"I suppose he's gone?" 

"I rather think so. Shall I see?" 

Dreen shook his head, and went thoughtfully to his own room. 
He sat down heavily at his desk and glanced at the litter of papers, 
absently. Then he laid his arms on the desk and, resting his chin on 
folded hands, fell into a brown study. 

He had been sitting thus a considerable time, unconscious of the 
encroaching darkness, when he became aware that someone was in- 
serting a key in the lock of his door. Instantly his slumbering senses 
awoke. Whose hand held the key to which nobody 'but himself had 
any right? Brooker and the secretary had gone home, he knew; and 
he had thought he was alohe in the building. 

While the user of the key discovered that the door was unlocked, 
Dreen quietly rose from his chair and placed himself in a dark corner of 
the room. 

In the dim light he saw the door swing open and close behind the 
form of a tall man, who stood irresolutely a moment, and then move 
swiftly over to the safe. In the dim light the outlines of the tall figure 
seemed familiar and as he stooped and with deft fingers fitted a key to 
the saft, the financier recognized Canning. Dreen stood motionless 
while his cashier opened the safe and cash drawer, from which he took a 
role of notes. Placing the notes in an inside pocket. Canning carefully 
closed the cash drawer, shut the safe, and stole out of the room, pulling 
the door to after him. 

Dreen drew a deep breath, and going to his desk sat down. He sat 
motionless until he felt satisfied he had heard the cashier leave the build- 
ing, when he switched on the electric light and went over to the safe. 
While he fumbled in his pocket for the key his eye lighted on a letter 
lying at his feet. Picking it up he saw it was addressed to Canning; 
but he read it without scruple: — 

" Note-of-Hand Loan Syndicate, 

"Hatton Crescent, London. 
"Dear Sir, — Am in receipt of your telegram, but regret cannot see 
way to holding the matter over longer, as you request. The writ has 
already been issued. It therefore rests with you to stay proceedings. 

"May add that the step has been taken not so much because the 
bill is overdue, as in consequence of the unfavorable accounts of your 
doings which have accidentally come to my knowledge. Gentlemen who 
are gentlemen don't allow themselves to be kicked out of clubs for a card 
debt or two if they've got the money to pay. Ergo, you're not a gentle- 
man or haven't got the money. I want to know which is the truth 
without any more delay. 

— Yours faithfully, _ "D. A. Morrison. 

"R. Canning, Esq." 

Dreen put the letter in his pocket and, opening the safe, counted over 
the bank-notes in the cash-drawer. 

"Three hundred pounds gone," he muttered. And he counted 


the notes again to assure himself he had estimated the deficiency correct- 
ly. "A gambler," he said, between his teeth, "who deceives her as to 
his salary in order to have ;^25o a year to play with. No doubt that's 
the reason. And he robs his employer to pay the sharks he borrows 
from. That is the man my Jessy is pledged tomarry!" 

He paced up and down the room with quick, nervous strides, striv- 
ing to decide upon a line of action. Was it not his duty to put the matter 
before Jessy and save her from her rogue of a lover? But, if he did so, 
would it not seem that he was actuated by jealousy and malice? Sup- 
posing he chose that course and ultimately married Jessy, would not the 
thing rise in her mind and his and canker their happiness. ? 

Dishonest servant and deceitful lover though he was, Canning might 
yet make her a good husband. He was young; perhaps he had been led 
astray; drawn into evil habits ere he fell under her benign influence. 
Perhaps he had gone far, so far that he could not recover the lost ground 
without going farther. Like thousands of others he may have played 
to win to pay his debts, borrowed to play, played with the gambler's in- 
stinctive optimism, meaning to square himself and stop. And from 
bad to worse — to this, in desperation. But if it were not so! Was he 
the man to make Jessy happy? 

" Would it be fair to let her marry him in ignorance of this?" Dreen 
cried, in bewilderment at the problem. "But would she bless or curse 
the man who told her?" 

It was not until he reached home and sat in lonely comfort by his 
fireside that he decided on a course of action, which he initiated on the 
following day. 

He was discussing a matter of business in the sub-manager's room 
when Canning came in and asked for the key of the safe, of which Dreen 
himself always took charge. The merchant handed it over without 
changing his expression or halting in his talk. 

Within ten minutes the cashier returned, no longer suave and de- 
bonnaire,.but greatly agitated and vehement. 

"Bank-notes to the value of ;£3oo are niissing from the safe!" he 
cried, in a thick voice. 

"I know," said Dreen, looking calmly up at him. "It's all right. 
You can write the amount down as drawn by me." 

The color leapt into Canning's pale face, and faded again, while the 
pupils of his eyes contracted to mere pin-points. But he recovered 
himself quickly. 

"That's all right, then, of course," he said, with a harsh laugh. 
"I was frightened for the moment." 

He hurried out of the room, coughing into the palm of his trembling 

Later in the day Dreen sent for the cashier. 

" Canning — shut the door, please — I picked up this letter yesterday," , 
he said, coldly, laying the money-lender's insolent epistle on the desk. 
"What does it mean?" 


The cashier became pale and snatched up the letter. 

" You gamble, you lose, you are threatened with a writ," said Dreen; 
incisively. "Is that suitable conduct for a man in your position? Sit 
down ... I believe you're engaged to be married?" 

Canning licked his lips and nodded. 

"How much do you owe this man Morrison?" 

"With interest, a hundred and eighty. I've been a fool, sir!" 

"Don't talk like that; you've been a scoundrel, sir!" 

"That's a hard name, Mr. Dreen!" 

"Shall I justify my use of it?" cried the merchant, passionately. 
"You, a man of good position, earning four hundred a year, and en- 
gaged to — to — to be married, run into debts of honor over cards, get 
kicked out of your club, and sued by a notorious money-lender. You've 
been a scoundrel, Mr. Canning; you've been a scoundrel, Mr. Canning 
you've disgraced yourself, discredited me, and dishonored your fiancee. 
Does she know your position?" 

" No, sir." 

" Of course not ! You've acted a part to her, no doubt, as to me — as 
an industrious man of business. Do you think she'd have accepted you 
if she'd known? Do you think I'd have employed you if I'd known? 
I tell you what it is sir, — you've taken the surest, shortest cut to ruin. 
What do your so-called 'debts of honor' amount to?" 

"Not more than seventy pounds, sir." 

"Then, if you paid them and this fellow, you'd still have £110 left 
of the ;£3oo you stole from my safe last night?" 

The cashier sprang to his feet, terrified into boldness. 

"How dare you, Mr. Dreen!" he cried. "How dare you utter such 
a cha.rge? You " 

" Don't talk like that," the merchant exclaimed, loudly, banging his 
fist down on the desk. "You know that I could clap you into prison 
within an hour. But I'm going to give you a chance, and as you value 
your life you take it! I'll advance that ^£300 for you to pay your debts — 
your debts, and you'll manage for nine months upon the balance. If 
during that period it comes to my knowledge that you have laid a half- 
penny in a gamble or borrowed sixpence from any person but a friend, I 
will give you in charge for robbing me. You understand ? I offer you the 
choice of a fresh start, and if you fail to take it, you're done." 

"And my fiancee'^" said Canning, in a haggard voice. 

"It rests with you whether, as a member of the public, she learns 
the truth or not. Of course, you will not venture to marry her while 
your position is in jeopard5^" 

The cashier murmured some words indistinctly, and left the room 
by the main door. 

Scarcely had the door closed than another giving access to the ante- 
room slowly opened, and Miss Mayne looked into the room. • She was 
extremely pale and her smile was evidently forced, albeit the expression 
of her eyes was dreamy. 


" May I come in, Mr. Dreen?" 

The merchant started, looked up, and nodded. 

"I've brought the designs," said Jessy, in a serious tone. She laid 
her portfoKo on a corner of the desk and fumbled the tapes with nervous 

Dreen watched her out of the corner of his eyes, wondering how 
much she had overheard. 

"You need not have hurried so over them," he said, gently. 

She did not seem to hear him, for she remained silent a few minutes. 
Then, looking frankly at him, with great gravity she said: — 

" I think you must be the best man in the world, Mr Dreen; the nob- 
lest, most generous •" 

"My dear young lady, what are yoti talking about?" 

"But your judgment has played you false this time. I don't think 
I could ever be happy with such a man as Mr. Canning, and I certainly 
don't love him well enough to marry him experimentally." 

"Dear, dear, dear! This is very unfortunate," Dreen murmured. 

"No, no, I thank Heaven for the chance that led me to overhear 
the conversation," she cried, vehemently; "for I can now appreciate 
two men as I could never otherwise have done. But such nobleness as 
youi-s is wasted on such a man as he is." 

" It was not offered him, but done because I thought it best for you," 
he said, playing with some loose papers. 

"Yesterday," she said with hesitancy, and dropping her voice to a 
whisper, "you did me the honor to ask me to become your wife." She 
paused, and her eyelids hung heavily over her lustrous eyes. "If I had 
known you and Mr. Canning as I know you both now, I might have 
answered differently." 

"You mean " He leant towards her and raised one of her 

hands. "Jessy, do you mean you'll marry me?" 

"I pledged myself to him with little love; I break from him with 
profound contempt. If he were in your place, and you in his, I'd marry 

" Btit you will take me as I am!" he cried, drawing her to him ner- 

"The best man in the world," she whispered. 

**** * * ** 

That evening a man with ;£3oo in his pocket fled the country — fled 
from a woman, still believing that she loved him. He fled because the 
alternative to honesty meant prison, and he dared not trust himself. 
The man was Richard Canning 

Well Suited. 

Mr. Millyuns. — (engaging valet) : " I warn you that frequently 
I am exceedingly ill-tempered and gruff." 

Valet. — (cheerfully): "That's all right, sir; so am L" 

— The Butler. 

Uheatviccil Comment. 

One of the prettiest stage pictvires that has been evolved this 
season accompanies the proceedingsin the second act of "When Johnny 
Comes Marching Home," the new patriotic comic opera that comes to 
Columbia Theatre for the week of November 23. The deHcacy and 
refinement of scenic art is beautifully illustrated in the back drop, 
representing a river traversing the lush bottom lands of the Mississippi, 
and in the foreground, occupied by a weather-worn mansion, familiar 
on the big cotton plantations of the South before the war, a bit of the 
negro servants' qtiarters, clambering rose bushes and wide-spreading 
trees. It is a moonlit scene, and the lighting is managed so well that 
the shimmering effect of the moon's beams on the river is reproduced 
in a way that is said to create a charming illusion. The care taken by 
the management to beautify this scene and to make it as captivating 
and alluring as possible goes still farther. The period of the action 
at this time is the springtime of the year, when the voices of nature 
make music in the silent watches of the night. The dancing fireflies 
that point the dusk with dots of Hght add to the fascinating deception, 
and the musical murmurings of melancholy frogs, those unquiet spirits 
of the marshlands, whose softer cadences invite drowsiness as easily as 
their rasping croakings, Avhen they are in full tune, banish it, complete 
the effect. The imitation of the evening hymn of these lowly creatures 
is as perfect and beguiling as that of the chirping of the cricket in 
Joseph Jefferson's presentation of "The Cricket on the Hearth." It 
is hard at the rising of the curtain on the scene, and may easily escape 
the inattentative ear of the person only conscious of the general beauty 
of the stage picture. It dies away shortly, but it Hngers in the memory 
of the sensative and impressionable spectator as a fascinating incidental 
in the production and as a happy thought on the part of the producer, 
Mr. F. C. Whitney. It is this attention to detail that is so satisfying 
to anyone having the artistic sense. 

Mrs. Fiske's position of pre-eminence among American actresses 
is secure and the opportunity to see this artiste who has so enriched our 
stage by her art is indeed a fortunate one. Paul Heyse's drama which 
WiUiam Winter, the distinguished critic, adapted into Enghsh verse, 
had a long run last season at Mrs. Fiske's New York Theatre, The 
Manhattan, and only recently ended a supplementary engagement. 
It received as enthusiastic praise as has ever been accorded a 
dramatic production and attracted attention from many writers who 
seldom refer to the theatre. Churchmen have endorsed the treatment of 
the theme — the regenerationof the Magdalen under the influence of 


Christianity and the dramatic power of the story has been generally 
admitted. The staging, magnificent, lavish and veritable, has been 
declared to have a decided advance in this phase of stage art and to 
picture perfectly Jerusalem as it was in the day of Pilate. Mrs. Fiske, 
as th.e Magdalen, gives a forceful and appealing character study in which 
an emotional transition is ac- complished with art. Her greatest op- 
portunity comes in the fourth act, the most dramatic of the play, where 
she rises to a scene of tremendous power. The other principal roles 
are in the hands of Charles Kent Vaughan Glaser, Henry J. Carvill, 
W. B. Mack, M. J. Jordan, Sydney Smith, E. C.Wilbur, Emily Steyens 
and Mary Maddern. There is a large force of auxiliaries, who appear 
in some admirable "mob" scenes, and Hedda Gabler as one of the 
strongest dramas ever written, is a fascinating study of human nature. 
It gives Mrs. Fiske a modern role of such depth and psychology that 
only an actress of her intellectuality and technical skill could adequ- 
ately portray. Mrs. Fiske has won a triumph as Hedda and has again 
proven herself without a peer as an actress of naturalistic roles. The 
success of "Hedda Gabler" has exploded the theory that Isben can 
appeal only to a cult, for the audiences who have applatided the play 
in New York and other .cities have been composed of regular theatre- 
goers, who go to the playhouse to be entertained and thrilled. Mrs. 
Fiske has placed the public in her debt by adding " Hadda Gabler" to 
her repertoire. In a waste of mediocrity such plays as this and 
"Mary of Magdala" tower supreme. 

E .H. Sothern's massive poduction of Justin Huntly McCarthy's 
miracle play," The Pround Prince," has become one of the great dramat- 
ic features of the present season, Mr. Sothern's performance of the ro/e 
of Robert of Sicily, in which Mr. Sothcrn is seen first as King, then as 
court jester, is a promise to theatregoers that they will see the most 
wonderful exainple of dramatic art on the stage to-day. "The Proud 
Prince" pictures the Sicilian legend of King Robert of Sicily, which has 
been converted into verse by Longfellow, Scoffing at Heaven, 
the proud king, through a miraculous intervention, is converted 
into the body of his court fool. He suffers keen humility which 
has the effect of ennobling him. He rises in the moral scale and 
succeeds in reverting the iniracle and winning back his kingly estates. 
In the play, McCarthy has interwoven an intense love interest and it is 
told in the same poetic, romantic and chivalrous manner that disting- 
guished "If I Were King" as a notable work of literature. "The Proud 
Prince," in addition to its romantic and chivalrous scenes, reflects 
elements of the religious, the mystic and the super-natural. In his 
ethical treatment of the play McCarthy has followed the idea Wagner 
utilizes in "Persifal," in which temptation is brought into prominence 
and is resisted. Mr. Sothern's role is an extraordinary one. It is 
generally admitted that in it he has given to the stage a new dramatic 


creation, and scholars have proclaimed it the most remarkable dramatic 
effort on the stage to day. He- reveals the steady ennoblement of the 
character of the King, even after he has become the court-jester, as 
through successive stages he grows nobler in body and mind. Mr. 
Sothern has endeavored to present the production of this play in full 
accordance with the impressive subject. The •religious and super- 
natural elements of the play, particularly the appearance of the arch- 
angel the miraculous transformation of the King and the sacred chanting 
of the monks give unusual opportunity for weird mechanical and elec- 
trical embelUshment. The locale of the story is Sicily in the thirteenth 
century; the acts are four in number and allow of even more artistic 
picturesqueness of mediaeval surroundings than was noted in Mr. Soth- 


Say not Good Night. 

Life! I knoViT not what thou art, 

But know that thou and I must part ; 

And when, or how, or where we met, 

I own to me's secret yet. 

Life! We've been long together 

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 

'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — 

Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; 

— Then steal away, give little warning, 

Choose thine own time; 

Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime 

■ Bid me Good Morning. 

— Anna L. Barhdiild in Four Track News. 

Stanley Medhursfs Wooing. 


There was nothing at all uncommon about the room. It was 
just an ordinary lodging-house parlor, furnished in the usual style, 
with the regulation assortment of glass-cased ornaments on the 
mantelpiece and black-framed mourning cards on the walls, but it 
suited Stanley Medhurst remarkably well, being not only quiet and 
secluded, but within ten minutes' walk of his office. When first he 
had taken up his abode there, a clerk in his own ofhce had occupied 
the rooms overhead, but he had married recently, and for several 
weeks the tiny bedroom and barely-furnished second parlor had 
been vacant. Mr. Medhurst missed the ^^oung man's companion- 
ship more than he cared to own, even to himself. It had been pleas- 
ant to sit smoking together as they had been wont to do in the long 
winter evenings, and he watched for the advent of the new lodger 
with almost boyish eagerness, hoping to be able to strike up some 
sort of friendship, and now, to his unspeakable chagrin, he discover- 
ed that the rooms had been let to a woman. 

"What sort of a woman? " he asked his landlady, as, breathless 
after her climb from the regions below, she began piling up the tea- 

"Oh, a very nice young creature, sir — a doctor's daughter as 
'as to get her own livin', and wanted somewhere 'ome-like and 
cheap. She's comiin' in now, sir, if you care to look at 'er, sir. 
She's a nice young lady — so tall and dignified-like, and 'er 'air's as 
black as-your 'at, sir." 

"She isn't very beautiful, then," he said. "I have a fancy 
for little, fair women myself. W^hat is her namiC, Mrs. Jinks? " 

"Chumleigh, sir — Miss Chumleigh!" 

"Do you mean Georgina Chumleigh?" 

"Yes, sir; that is 'er name, sir, Pardon my being so bold, 
but do you know 'er, sir?" 

"Very slightly. We haven't met for over twelve months. 
She isn't my style. I don't like these big, muscular, unfeminine 


creatures, with hands almost large enough for a man. That is all, 
thank you. Good-night, Mrs. Jinks." 

"Good-night, sir. I 'ope, sir, as 'ow you don't object to 'er 
being 'ere, sir?" 

"Certainly not. Miss Chumleigh and I are never likely to 

Miss Chumleigh was not a stranger to him by any means. 
Years before — in fact, before Httle Lilian de Vere had taken his 
heart by storm — he had served her rather badly, having won her 
love and then left her without a word ; and perhaps that accounted 
in some measure for the antipath}^ with which he regarded her. 

Whether his animosity was returned or not he could not say. 
When by any chance they met, she was always formal, always 
polite, and if she noticed any rudeness on his part she made no 
outward sign, though oftentimes in the privacy of her own room 
she would clench her hands together in an agony of pain. 

"He shall not drive me away!" she would cry, passionately. 
" Had I known that he was here I would have died rather than come, 
but having come I will stay. I have as much right to be here as 
he has." 

And then she would turn to her 'cello — the soother of all her 
woes — and passing her fingers lovingly over the strings would lose 
all thought of self in the sweet, entrancing music she loved so well. 

But even her playing annoyed the man in the room below, 
and as the sounds were wafted down to him he would throw open 
the piano and, seating himself at the instrument, begin playing 
the liveliest airs he knew, changing from one tune to another with 
almost lightning rapidity — heedless of time and discord. 

This went on for several weeks, until at length even Miss 
Chumleigh 's patience was exhausted, and, forcing the tears back 
with an unusual effort, she went dov/n to face the lion in his den. 

"I knocked twice," she said, with quiet dignity, "but you did 
not hear. I have come to ask if you will kindly tell me at what 
hour you like to practice. I have changed my own time over and 
over again, but we always seem to clash." 

Mr. Medhurst had risen, and now stood fingering the keys of 
the piano somewhat awkwardly. 

"I always practice when the fancy seizes me," he answered, 
with studied politeness. " I thought we were free to do as we liked 
in our own rooms." 


She bowed. 

" Legally I suppose we are, and I am quite sure that if my play- 
ing annoys you, I am sorr5^ I am always most careful to close 
both door and window. Did you trouble to do likewise it would 
be pleasanter for us both." 

"Why did you come here at all?" he demanded. "We only 
aggravate each other every time we meet." 

"You* need not flatter yourself that you aggravate me!" 
she said. "Only people I like and esteem have the power to do 
that. As to my reason for coming her, though I do not allow your 
right to question me, I am perfectly willing to inform you that I 
came because the rooms were cheap and to my liking. If my play- 
ing annoys you, I repeat, I am sorry — but practice I must! " 

"Are you a professional musician, then?" he asked. "I 

understood that you were a doctor's dispenser, or — something of 

that sort." 

"I am — 'something of that sort,' " she returned, "and I do 

but play, as the birds sing, because I must. It is the only recreation 

I have. However, I did not come here to discuss my private affairs 

with you, but to try and arrange so that our hours of playing may 

not clash. " 

"They will not clash in future," he returned, "for I will not 
touch the piano again." 

" Oh, pray do not take it like that!" she cried. " I would rather 
you played all day long than feel that I was the means of preventing 


He looked up, some scathing reply on his lips, but something in 
her manner caused the words to die away unspoken. 

"Very well, Miss Chumleigh," he answered, "it shall be as 
you wish." 

And then, as she made a movement towards the door, he sprang 
forward to open it for her. 

"The lock is rather awkard," he said. "Be careful, or you 
will hurt your hands." 

"I wouldn't like to do that," she answered, looking straight 
into his face, "for I am rather proud of my hands. They are a 
little bit large, perhaps, almost large enough for a man, but then 
they very often have to do man's work!" And with this parting 
shot, she passed quietly up the stairs to her own room, leaving him 
gazing after her in mingled consternation and dismay. 



It was a glorious Saturday afternoon, and, having obtained 
a grudging consent to her request for a half-day's holiday, Georgina 
Chumleigh hurried down to the sea, where she intended spending 
her few hours of freedom. She had a magazine in her hand — one 
her fellow-lodger had sent up to her the day before — for since the 
episode of the piano his animosity towards her seemed to have died 
a natural death; but despite the fact that they had been staying 
in the same house for over six months they had seen very little 
of each other.. Whatever his feelings may have been, she undoubt- 
edly avoided him. The words he had uttered the first evening 
of her arrival (which had been borne up all too plainly to the room 
above) rankled in her mind, and — had she but acknowledged it 
— hurt. 

She was a sensitive, highly-strung woman despite her unusual 
stature, and the ridicule to which her size so often subjected her 
cut her to the quick. It was so much nicer for a woman to be 
pretty and petite like Mr. Medhurst's Lilian, and even as the thought 
flashed through her mind she saw the couple pass along the beach 
almost within a stone's throw of where she sat, but so engrossed 
in each other as to be entirely oblivious of all else. Georgina 
turned away her eyes, and then, fascinated, looked again. They 
were such an odd-looking couple. He — so big, so strong; she — 
little more than a fair-sized child. 

How long she sat there musing she never knew, but the sun 
was already sinking in the western sky when she awoke with a start 
as a wild scream of terror broke upon her ear. For one second 
her woman's heart almost ceased to beat, but Georgina Chumleigh 
was no coward, and in another minute she was clambering over 
the rocks towards the spot from whence the sound came. She had 
not proceeded far when a light-robed figure came flying past her 
in whom Georgina recognized Stanley Medhurst's child-like fiancee. 
She paused to speak to her, but the girl was too distraught to listen, 
and would have passed on had not Georgina seized her uncere- 
moniously by the arm and held her fast. 

"What is the matter?" she demanded. "What has become 
of Mr. Medhurst?" And for answer the other could only point 
to the beach below with trembling finger and sink down on the rocks 
where she stood, sobbing aloud. 


"Oh, don't leave me!" she cried. "Don't leave me! Stay 
with me, or I shall die of fright! " 

But Georgina heeded her not. 
"■ "If Mr. Medhurstjs in danger our first thought must befor 
him," she said, her lip curling, and springing forward towards the 
spot indicated she disappeared behind the rocks. 

The sight that met her eyes "was somewhat reassurring, for, 
whatever his injuries might be, Stanley Medhurst still lived; and 
as she approached him from the rocks above he called out to her — 
bidding her go for help, as he had dislodged a fragment of rock 
which had fallen upon him and prevented his escape. But her 
quick eye saw that the tide was already upon him, and, setting her 
teeth firmly, she began the perilous descent. 

Watching her with bated breath, and expecting every moment 
to see her fall, he forgot his own danger in the thought of hers, and, 
shouting to her to go back, turned his head aside with a groan 
as he felt the water lapping his feet. 

" Go back! " she answered; "what do you take me for? I have 
come to save you!" and he opened his eyes to find her already at 
his side. 

"I am afraid my arm is broken," he said, rousing himself with 
an effort. "Do you think you are strong enough to move that 
thing off it?" 

"I am sure I am," she answered, brightly; but her heart 
failed her as she saw what a size it was, and her spirits fell to zero 
when, with all her strength, she found herself unable to release 

"I can't lift it," she said, with a. stifled sob of pity "and there 
is no time to go for help. I shall have to hurt you terribly, I am 
afraid, but I must push it off." 

And then, without another word ,she sat down on the wet 
sand at his side — a great boulder at her back — and planting her 
feet firmly against the rock, pushed at it with the frenzy of despair 
until at last her efforts were rewarded, and the prisoner was free. 

Springing to her feet with an exclamation of relief she turned 
to give him her hand, but he neither moved nor spoke, for, strong 
man though he was, the pain had been so excruciating that he had 

fainted for the first time in his life. 

And though Lilian turned away at once to do her bidding 
it seemed hours to the lonelv watcher before assistance came. In- 


deed, it was almost dark when at length two men and a boy ap- 
peared on the scene, bearing a stretcher. On this they carried 
the unconscious man up the rocks, Georgina taking one corner, in 
spite of her torn and bleeding hands ; and thus they bore him home, 
to the lodgings he had left only a few short hours before in the full 
strength and vigor of his manhood. 

Here amputation was found necessary, and for the three weeks 
during which he hovered between life and death his fellow-lodger 
tended him with untiring devotion. Only once after he had re- 
covered consciousness did he ask for his little fiancee, and when he 
received her answer he turned his face to the wall with a smothered 

"I'm awfully sorry, my boy," the doctor said, sympathetically 
"but I can't persuade her to come. She says she's sure it wouldn't 
be 'proper' — that she's never been in a man's rooms in her life." 
And after that the subject was not mentioned again, but when at 
length he was strong enough to travel, Mr. Medhurst went away 
to a South Coast watering-place without even paying a farewell visit 
to the girl whose love had proved so frail. 

He was away six months, and on the evening of his return he 
went up to Miss Chumleighs' room for the first time. He owed her a 
debt of gratitude he would never be able to repay, and, as he stood 
at the door waiting her permission to enter, his thoughts turned 
back to the old days when his heart beat for her alone. 

She was sitting disconsolately by the window when, in answer 
to her summons, he pushed open the door — an open newspaper iv 
her hand, which she was endeavoring to read in the gathering gloom. 
There was no fire in the grate, and he noticed that she was shivering 
in spite of the thick woollen shawl she had wrapped around her 

"Miss Chumleigh," he said, "I have just come home, and I 
want someone to talk to. Won't you take pity on my lonely state, 
and come down and have some dinner with me?" 

"I don't know," she answered, doubtfully. "We always 
'aggravate each other so much,' you see." 

"Don't!" he cried quickly. "I was mad when I said that! 
Miss Chumleigh," he continued, humbly, "won't you consent to 
let bygones be bygones? I know that I have treated you shame- 
fully, and you have heaped coals of fire upon my head. I can never 
thank you sufficiently for what you have done for me — I owe you 


my very life! Won't you add to your kindness by trying to forget 

the past, and remember only that 'I repent me of all I have done'?" 

And as she looked across at him, standing there so meekly 

with the empty coat-sleeve tucked pathetically in his coat-pocket 

the girl found it impossible to say him nay. Besides, she was colp 

and hungry, and the roaring fire she had seen in his room, as she 

passed the door, was an inducement in itself. 

H< * >H =1= * * * 

" I have a letter here I want to show you," he said, as, dinner 
over, they drew their chairs up to the fire, and his eyes watched 
her furtively as she read. 

It was a heartless letter, coming as it did from the girl who 
was to have been his wife, begging for her freedom, as she could not 
bear the thought of being bound to a one-armed man, and Geor- 
gina's eyes flashed with indignation as she passed it back without 

"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked. "I received that 
little love-letter before I was well enough to leave my room. Don't 
you think it was fortunate for me that m}' accident occurred before 
my marriage. 

"I think it is a very good thing you are able to look at it in 
that light," she said, unsteadily. 

They saw a gread deal of each other after that, and then one 
day he discovered, what she had tried so hard to hide, that she had 
lost her situation at the dispensary owing to her repeated absences 
during his illness. 

"Your one cry was for Miss Chumleigh," the old doctor told 
him, "only you called her 'Georgina'; and, angel that she is, she 
made you her chief care, knowing full well that it meant losing her 
place. She is the truest woman who ever lived, and if I were a 
few years younger " 

But Stanley Medhurst heard no more. This, then, was the 
reason for the girl's unusual pallor — she lacked the wherewithal! to 
purchase the common necessities of life, and for want of proper food 
was fading away before his very eyes. 

And then — he never remembered exactly how it happened 
but in another minute he found himself at her side, pouring out his' 
love and his unworthiness in one breath ; and her tears were falling 
as Lilian's might have done, on his big brown hand. 


"You are quite sure it isn't gratitude you feel?" she asked. 
"I thought yon didn't Hke big, muscular, unfeminine women " 

"Georgina!" he gasped, "you — you didn't hear me say that!" 

"I couldn't help it," she returned. "I had just gone out on to 
the balcony to watch the sun set, and the words floated up to me 
from the room below. I know I'm a big, clumsy creature, but I have 
a woman's heart." 

"I know it," he answered, passionately; "the tenderest, 
truest heart that ever beat. I was a fool to think you could ever 
be otherwise. I ought to have known you better. Georgina, 
five years ago I intended asking you to be my wife, but when 
mischief-makers told me you were already appropriated I left you ; 
and then, when I discovered my mistake, I was too proud to come 
back. Don't tell me that I have come too late!" 

"*No, you are not too late," she answered. 

Children's Department, 


One of the pleasant memories of the day at Windsor is a visit to the 
stables of Royalty. The buildings covered an immense tract of land, and 
were separated by court-yards and riding schools. Each apartment was 
immaculately clean and orderly In one room, glass closets held count- 
less sets of harness and carriages for saddle horses, enough t o equip 
every horse in a royal parade. In another building there were equip- 
ages of every description; great golden satin-lined coaches for state occa- 
sions, commodious travelling vehicles, rode-carts, landaus and small 
elegant carriages. The horses were beauties, every one. Each stood in 
its stall of rich, dark wood, groomed until its coat looked like satin. 
The name of each horse was over its stall. Their blankets had "V R." 
and the crown of Englnd embroidered in one corner. 
As we walked through the stables admiring everything as much as roylty's 
coachman who was our guide, we came to a stall in which stood a dimin- 
utive doney. Such a fat, glossy little fellow with long, inquisitive ears 
the coachman told us his history. On one occasion the Queen was in the 
vicinit}^ of extensive coal mines, which she expressd a desire to inspect. 
Far below ground, way down in the black depths of the mine, this donkeys 
with many others, was plodding- patiently day by day, drawing huge loads 
of coal to the shafts. Poor, tired, overworked scrubby, little donkev', 
living in Stygain darkness as black as his coat! 

In some way the Queen's attention was attracted to the animal. She 
was touched by its brave efforts to pull loads far too heavj' for his small 
back. She ordered his purchase, and directed that he be transferred 
to the royal stables at Windsor. There a special groom gave attention 
to his personal appearance, until finally the donkey emerged from his 
generous "shampooing " with a coat like black satin. The Queen then 
ordered that the donkey be harnessed to her garden chair on wheels, and 
he was installed as personal attendant to her majesty, trotting soberly 
along the shady avenues and among the magnificent flower beds of grand 
old Windsor Park. 

As we stood by the stall of the little donkey listening to the groom's 
story I wondered if the shiny little fellow with the long ears were not 
listening too, and marvelling at the unlooked for providence that change 
his life from the dampness and darkness of a coal mine to the loveliness 
and sunshine of a palace garden, from the heav3r shafts of a rumblings 
cart to the dignified and enviable harness of the Queen's chair! 

•eOritten For UalK^ and Uat*s. ^ytWRighls "Resor^td. 

«^ 'Pinehursi, ^ 

"By Mrs. M. M. "BucKner. 

"I think I'll go in and read a while, perhaps I can disperse thoughts 
of burglars, and assassins." Very soon after she had commenced to read 
she heard the voice of Mrs. Hunter remind the children that it was near 
the liour for them to retire, and in a short time the silence reigning pro- 
claimed that the household slumbered. 

Mrs. Land finding the quiet oppressive and having succeeded in divirt- 
ino- her mind from grewsome subjects, retired and had been in dreamland 
with the rollicking children and fun-loving husband, when she was awak- 
ened by a voice calling her in low, almost whispered tones. 

"Floy, FI03', wake up." Shaking off the drowsiness that almost 
stupified her, Mrs. Land started up listening attentively. "Floy, Flojs" 
and she recognized the voice of Mrs. Hunter at the door opening into the 
hallway. Springing from bed with a nameless fear at her heart Mrs. 
Land opened the door and before she could utter the question, "What is 
the matter?" her arm was seized and a warning "hush" was whispered 
in her ear. "A man is trying to break in the dining-room, it is that ped- 
ler, I think." 

An icy hand seemed to clutch her heart; half fainting she sank on her 
knees with blanched face and clasped hands. 

"Oh, Heaven, pity us defenceless women and children. We are at the 
mercy of that terrible Jew. We'll all be murdered," she wailed looking 
despairingly at the sleeping Totty. "I'll die, with my baby, " and she 
rushed to take up the little fellow, but was stopped halfway the room by 
her companion who said, in most energetic tones, "Leave the child alone, 
he's safe, none of us are in danger of our lives. Theft is evidently the 
man's object. He thinks there is silver in the dining-room and must have 
noticed that broken fastening to the window when he was eating supper. 
Come, I have a closet under the stairs. Let's go tiirough the boys' room, 
as it is nearer the closet and I want to see if Bertie is brave enough to 
defend us." 

A few whispered words and Bertie was awake. "Aunt Kate," he said 
"It's that rascally peddler, and this is just what I expected," and he 
surprised his Aunts by taking the rifle from behind the door. "I thought 
I'd be ready for him." 

Mrs. Hunter hurriedlj^ explained that she was uneasy, and unable to 
sleep and had tip-toed around the house to see that everything was secure 
for the night. 

While looking towards the barn and listening for some sound from that 
quarter what was her horror when approaching footsteps were plainly 


heard ! Peeping- out cautiously, she saw a man coming from the direct- 
ion of the barn. She watched him and he walked first to the front door 
and finding- it locked went around to the dining-room window and proceed- 
ed to enter in the usual burglarous manner. 

Mrs. Land had never thought once of her scissors and being so terrified 
that she could not remain behind, accompanied the defenders, on what 
she called a perilous and fool-hardy trip, to the dining-room. Pausing 
before the door leading into that room, they distinctly heard the noise of 
some one attempting to get in at the window. 

"It's no use to hail him is it?" whisrpered Bertie, with suppressed ex- 
citement in his voice but a pale determined face. The rifle was held 
ready to fire and Mrs. Hunter clutched her pistol saying, "Yes, speak 
before you shoot. " And she thought if Bertie's ball missed its target, 
she would take a surer aim. 

Stealthily opening the door thej' were astonished to see that the man 
had entered and had turned as if to close the window. 

"Who are you?" rang out the clear boyish voice sharply and his hand 
was on the trigger. 

HE Carpenter Bird, 

By Clinton Scollard. 
There is a cunning carpenter who's busy in our tree. 
Who's making him a hovise to hold his tiny familj-, 
Who's finishing it up for them all tidy and all trim. 
Hark! Don't you hear his hammer on the old dead limb? 
He must be much in earnst, for he works with such a will; 
I doubt if any carpenter can show a greater skill. 
Or toil with blither cheer until the day grows dim, 
With the "tap, tap," of his hammer on the old dead limb! 
Oh, can you not imagine how his heart with pride will stir 
When he gives a building lesson to each little carpenter? 
I know it is this thought that seems to bubble and to brim 
Whene'er I hear his hammer on the old dead limb! 




The Succesion of Events on the Isthmus — Procalmation of a Republic — 
Course of the United States— What It Means. 

When Columbia rejected the Hay Herran treaty for the construction of 
the Panama Canal it was boldly hinted that the State of Panama would 
not abide by the decision, but would secede from Columbia and, after set- 
ting- up an independent government, make her own arrangements with the 
United States. Our Governmnt was cognizant of the situation on the 
Isthmus. Indeed, orders were recently issued to several of our warships 
to proceed to Panama and Colon, in anticipation of trouble there, and a 
leave of absence was also extended to Mr. Beaupre, our Minister at 
Bogata, presumably that he might get out of the country before trouble 
arose. Mr. Beaupre by the way, did not avail himself of his leave. 

Now, to review the events to date: On Nov. 3 the inedpendence of the 
State of Panama was proclaimed at the city of Panama. General Tovar, 
the commander of the Columbian forces on the Isthmus, was arrsteed 
with his staff. A provisional government was announced, composed of 
Jose Augustin Arjano, Frederico Boyd, and Tomas Arias, and a provis- 
ional cabinet was formed. The flag of the new Republic— four squares; 
one red, one blue, and two white, with a star in each of the white squares — 
was formall}' hoisted. 


The government troops made no trouble. They seemed to have gone 
over to the new Government. Shortly after the coup d'etat the 
Columbian gunboat Bogota shield the city, doing very little damage. 
The shore forts returned the fire, and the Bogata soon steamed away. 
Our State Department has formally protested against this bombardment, 
which was begun without the required preliminary notice. 

At Colon the revolution had lower recognition because of the 
presence of Colonel Torres and 300 loyal Columbian troops. Trouble 
was threatened, and the United States gunboat Nashville twice landed 
marines, who erected barricades and prepared to defend the city against 
attack by the Columbian soldiers. Colonel Torres was finally convinced 
of the helpleessness of his position and consented to embark, with his 
men, on the Royal Mail steamer Orinoco, Nov. 5, for Cartegena. Gen- 
eral Tovar was also permitted to sail on the Orinoco. 


After the departure of the troops the people of Colon announced their 
adherence to the new Government. 

On Nov. 6 our State Department sent the following dispatch to Mr. 
Ehrman, the acting- Consul-General of the United States at Panama: 

"The people of Panama have by an apparentl3' unanimous movement 
dissolved their political connection with the Republic of Colombia and re- 
sumed their independence, "When you are satisfied that a de facto Gov- 
ernment, republican in form and without substantial opposition from its 
own people, has been established in the State of Panama, you will enter 
into relations with it as the responsible Government of the territory, 
and look to it for all due action to protect the persons and property of citi- 
zens of the United States, and to keep open the isthmian transit, in accord- 
ance witli the oblig-ations|^of existing- treaties g-overning the relations of 
the United States to that territory." 


Immediately^ afterwards instructions were sent by cable to Mr. Beau- 
pre, the United States Minister at Bog-ota, in the following- terms: 

'The people of Panama, having bj^ an apparently unanimous move- 
ment dissolved their political connctions with the Republic of Colombia 
and resumed their independence, and having adopted a government of 
their own, i-epublican in form, with which the Government of the United 
States of America has intimate relations, the President of the United 
States, in accordance with the ties of friendship which have so long and 
so happily existed between the respective nations, most earnestlj^ com- 
mends to the Governments of Colombia and of Panama the peaceful and 
equitable settlement of all questions at issue between them. He holds 
that he is bound, not merely by treaty obligations, but by the interests of 
civilization, to see that the peaceful trafific of the world across the Isthmus 
of Panama shall not longer be disturbed by a constant succession of un- 
necessary and wasteful civil wars. Secretary Hay issued an extended 
statement in justification of the administration's course, dwelling upon 
our treaty obligation to keep open the transit across the Isthmus. 

Next appeared Mr. Bunau-Varilla, a Frenchman, who is the fiscal agent 
in New York of the Panama Canal Company'. He went from New York 
to Washington where he presented his credentials as diplomatic ag-ent of 
Panama. It is supposed that he will try to arrange at once for a Pana- 
ma canal treaty between Panama and the United States. Meanwhile our 
government has taken the stand that Columbia not only will not be per- 
mitted to land troops at Isthmian ports; she will not be permitted to em- 
bark troops for the Isthmas from Columbian ports. 

President Roosevelt in his message makes out a case which will com- 
pel his critics to admit that they have been too previous in their condemna- 
tion of his course in recognizing tlie newlj' establislied republic of Panama 
so hastil3^ 

From this message it plainly appears that Colombia has been using 
Uncle Sam to bolster up, and help her maintain her supremacy in Pana- 


ma, and that after making a treatj^ satisfactory to the officials in control 
of the government of Colombia, the Colombian Senate was made to plaj^ 
the part of "Jorkin" of the law firm of "Spenlow and Jorkins," and re- 
fuse to agree. Thus a great enterprise necessarj' to the advancement of 
the world's commerce, and indispensable to the United States was held 
in check, if not absolutely blocked, until a new deal, more advantageous 
to Colombians living far away from the Isthmus could be forced. 

These men cared not a whit that their tactics endangered the advance- 
ment of the Panama route by our Government thus forever blasting the 
hopes and prosperity of the actual inhabitants of the Isthmus, so long as 
there was any chance of a temporarj' advantage to themselves. 

President Roosevelt is not a man to wait for appearance sake alone. 
He struck while the iron was hot, and by his action has prevented a re- 
sumption of bloody strife, which has been kept up almost constantly for 
the past fifty years, in that quarter of the globe. We believe he did the 
right thing at the right time. 


It was coined unintentionally a few weeks ago by a political speaker 
in New York. He was speaking of certain men whose names are often 
seen in print, and he meant to say they were fond of "newspaper notor- 
iety," but said "newspaperiety" instead. The word has quickly become 

twent)^ to twenty-eight cents without board. 

SECRETARY OF STATE HAY has informed Govenor Hunt of Por- 
to Rico that he has requested the United States Minister at Madrid, 
Arthur S. Hardy, to present to the Spanish Government a claim of $40,000 
for Porto Rican school pensions seized by Spain in the San Juan Bank 
after the American occupation of Porto Rico and during the armitice 
which preceded Spain's final withdrawal from the island. 

NEWS from Somailand gives assurance that the present prospects of 
victory for the Mad Mullah are bad. Great Britain has taken steps 
looking to decisive action for the annihilation of the Mullah's power. 
Italy, co-operating with Great Britain, has ordered the gunboat Vol- 
turno and the cruiser Cristoforo Colombo to reinforce its Red Sea squad- 
ron. At the same time Emperor Menelik of Abysinia has been urged 
to expedite the attack of his troops on the Mullah's forces, thus catching 
him between two fires. 

ROBERT WILCOX, ex-congressional delegate from Hawaii, and the 
first man of the Hawaiian race to occupy a seat in the American Con- 
gress, died at Honolulu, Oct. 24. 

ANOTHER speed test on the experimental electric railroad from Mari- 
enfelde to Zossen was made Oct. 23. A rate of 131 1-2 miles an hour was 
achieved. At the last test a speed of about 125 3-4 miles was reached. 

THE THIRD INSTALMENT of the indemnity to be paid by the 
China to the United States, making a total to the date of seventy-five 


per cent, of the amount ageed upon, was paid to the American represent- 
atives Oct. 31. 

Mr. Santos-Dumont announces his final decision to compete for the air- 
ship prize at the St. Louis Exposition with his "No. 7." "This balloon", 
he says, "is really an arrow. It measures 154 feet in length, has a di- 
ameter of 22 feet and is driven by an eight}' horsepower motor". 

The marrying of American girls by foreign potentates may be hard on 
America, but it is a mighty good thing for the rest of the world to have a 
clear headed, independent, big-hearted American woman somewhere in 
the community in case of emergency. 

Servia has a new cabinet but the closet that contained the old skeleton 
has not been gotten rid of. 

This settles the Phillipinos: News has just been received that the in- 
surgents are organizing foot ball and baseball leagues. May as well 
call back the arm}'. 

People who propose to attend the Louisiana Purchase Exposition 
next year are now cudgeling their memories in trj'ing to recall some rela- 
tive that thej' ma}' have in St. Louis. — 

suggests the following programme for Adelina Patti: "Farewell Forever," 
"Say Au Revoir, but Not Goodbye," "How can I Bear to Leave Thee?" 
Bid Me Goodbye and Go," "I Don't Care if You Never Come Back," 
Tosti's "Goodb3'e," "Fare Thee Well, for I Must Leave Thee," "Take 
Your Clothes and Go," and "I Will Return Again. 

' Fire broke out in the Vatican at Rome, Nov. 1, and was extinguislied 
with difficulty after damage had been done to the extent of $50,000. The 
Pope superintended in person the earlier efi'orts of the firemen. The fa- 
mous library was threatened by the flames, but is understood to have 
escaped damage. 


The personality of Admiral Alexeieff, who is the chief Russian author- 
ity in the Far East, is said to be pleasant and engaging. A man in his 
prime, he has a kindly air, the-effect of benevolence being heightened by 
a patriarchial beard. Of his position the London Daily Mail says, : 

"He is the first Russian Viceroy in the Far East, the man upon whom 
Nicholas II. has imposed the momentous task of building up a new empire. 
Quite what part Alexeieff has played in the recent moves on the great 
chess-board of Asia nobodj' outside the Czar's Empire knows. He has 
been in his time Governor-General of Eastern Siberia and Governor of 
Russian Manchuria; and he is today Commander-in-Chief of the Russian 
forces in the Pacific. It is an office hardl}' understood in England, for 
Alexeieff has power over the forces on land and on sea. 

"If Alexeieff is not the slave of a strict convention, and we know that 
his soldiers were seen in China, marching under umbrellas — he knows 
how to fit in freedom with efficiency. It was probably he of whom a 
traveler was thinking when he wrote home that 'I have seen high Rus- 


sian officers joke and laugh with their soldiers as if they had been 
chums;' 3'et the same traveler wrote that on the trying march to Pekin, 
'where soldiers of all other nationalities collapsed in hundreds along the 
road from sunstroke or dysentery, or oppressed by the great heat, I never 
saw a single Russian fall out of the ranks.' When the allies left China 
the Czar sent Alexeieff a sword shining with gold and diamonds, and in- 
scribed, 'For victories at the seat of war in Pechili, 1900.' " 

A great advance in ship construction is the new system by which the 
new water-tight doors between bulkheads can be opened or closed within 
a few seconds, either automatically or by hydraulic pressure controlled 
from the bridge. The system has been installed on the Deutchland, and 
it makes the ship practically unsinkable. Should the ship start a leak 
the buklhead doors will be closed automatically as soon as the water rises 
two feet above the bilge keel. At that level are bilge floats, consisting of 
ordinary copper bulbs, attached to one end of a lever, the other end of 
which is attached to the controlling valves by means of a wire rope. 
The water, rising in the hold, will cause the bulb to be raised^ opening 
the valve at the other end, which starts the pressure through the valve and 
causes the door to slide down. Other details of the sj-stem provide for 
its practical use in other emergencies. The effect of losing the doors is 
to make the ship a series of water-tight compartment. 

Manj' great minds have pointed out the folly of rigid consistency. The 
man who enslaves himself to consistencj^ must stay in his shell. He can- 
not grow. Everj'thing that he says and everything that he does must 
be arranged to agree with what he has said and what he has done. The 
Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post says: — "One Ohio statesman chal- 
lenged another to join debate. The second retorted: 'First I want to 
hear a joint debate between the year of 1503 and the year of 1893.' This 
bit of wit was received Vvith loud gufl^aws of delight, and the followers 
and partisans of the statesman thus reminded of his inconsistency were 
abashed and silenced. Apparently the charge tliat a man has changed 
his mind will never lose its power to handicap him. 

"Yet the fact that a man does not change his mind is proof positive 
either that he has no mind to change or that he is plaj'ing the hypocrite 
before the world and is a traitor to his better self. 

'The only kind of courage worth raising is the kind that fearlessly ex- 
presses today what seems to be true, without regard to what seemed to 
be true yesterday. Principles are changeless, but the application of 
principles must change incessantly'. 

"As Machiavelli long ago pointed out, some of the greatest failures in 
history have been those of successful men who did not realize that the 
policy that wins in one set of circumstances is fatal in another set. One 
of the very great qualities is adaptability — the adaptability of iron that 
can be moulded to any shape, it always remains iron." 

A variety of American spider which lives in evergreen trees catches its 


prej' with a kind of lasso-like web, which has two of its triangular cor- 
ners fastened to twigs; the third, ending in a thread, and held by the 
spider on an adjoining twig, is loosened when a fly touches the web, 
causing the web threads to entangle the insect. 

When two Negritos, a people of the Philippine islands are united the 
whole tribe is assembled, and the affianced pair climb two trees growing 
near to each other. The elders then bend the branches until the heads 
of the couple meet. When the heads have thus come into contact, the 
marriage is legally accomplished and great rejoicings take place. A 
fantastic dance completing the ceremony. 

From Liverpool to Yokohama by the trans-Canada route will be but 
9,830 miles. By New York and San Franiscco it is 12,008 miles. 

King Lewanica., ruler of Basutoland, is educating several of his many 
sons in England and Australia, and has recently sent one to be placed in 
a school in Kansas. 

Senator Stewart of Nevada according to current gossip, has never been 
shaved. His beard began to grow when he was sixteen, and has been 
growing for sixty j^ears. 

Last 3"ear the Bible Societ3''s agents sold the Scriptures in fiftj'-three 
languages in the Russian Empire, in twentj^-eight languages in Burmah, 
and in thirt3' in South Malaysia, and fiftj^-three in Egypt. 

The oldest ship in the world is reported to be the mail schooner Vigi- 
lant, running into St. Croix, F. W. I. Though now under the French 
flag, the Vigilant was built of Essex oak at Essex, Mass., in 1802. 

The bronze statue of Cecil Rhodes, which was recently completed at 
Fulham, England, for shipment to South Africa, is one of the large st 
ever cast in Eng^alnd. It is fourteen feet high and weighs over five tons. 

J. M. Barrie derives, it is said, an income of more than $35,000 a year 
from royalties on his plays. He commenced the work of drainatizing 
his novels in 1895, and is now supposed to be the richest author in Great 

Siberian railway trains, under new schedules, cover the distance from 
Moscow to Port Arthur, 5,388 miles in thirteen days, the fare, including 
sleeper, being Sl34. 

The globe trotter can have a special train of three cars for $10. 

Father D. J. Lynch, pastor of St. Patrick's Cliiirch, Gainsville, Fla. 
is endeavoring to divert Irish immigration to the South. He wishes to 
develop an Irish colony on a tract of about 1,000 acres of fine farming 
3 land in Alachua County Fla. Only settlers who understand fanning 
are desired. 

The Austrian Emperor is the greatest of royal sportsmen. Between 
1856 and 1897 he killed 1,243 deer and 730 chamois, besides thousands of 
head of other game. The Russian Emperor does not hunt in the mariner 
of the average European royalty. He rarely engages in "drives," his 
preference being for stalking or for anj^ form of shooting which allows 
him to find the game himself. 


Mrs. Roosevelt is a descendant of Jonathan Edwards in the line of his 
eldest son, Timothy Edwards of Stockbridge, Mass. of which town he 
was for many years a resident. His daughter Sarah, married Captain 
Daniel Tyler, of Brooklyn, N. Y. The3' were the parents of General 
Daniel Tyler of Norwich, Conn., whose daughter Gertrude, married 
Charles Carew. Mrs. Roosevelt is the daughter of Gertrude Tyler and 
Charles Carew. 

A razorless shave is the latest. Dr. Wolfran E. Dreyfus, chief chemist 
of the Department of Public Charities, of New York City, has compounded 
a little mixture which, if rubbed over the face, will remove all hair from 
the surface. This is the compound: Barii sulphidi, 25 parts; Savonis 
puvlis, 5 parts; Talci veneti pulvis, 35; Tritici farinae, 35; Benzaldehydi, 
quarter sulotion. One teaspoonful of this mixture, which is in the form 
of a powder, is mixed with three teaspoonfuls of water, making a paste 
which is applied to the face in an even layer. In four or five minutes the 
lather on the face is moistened' with a sponge and five minutes later is 
washed off, leaving the face smooth. 

The compound, if properly mixed, is said to have no injurious effects 
on the skin. After a "razorless shave" the beard returns more slowly 
than after a razor is used. 

The Vatican in which two Popes have been technical prisoners, is the 
largest palace in the world, and within its enclosure is a park of thirteen 

The first American woman who devoted herself to authoship was Mrs. 
Hannah Adams, who in 1832 was the first person interred in Mount Auburn 

Chang, a Chinese general, has been given a like position in the Russian 
army to command the Chinese soldiers lately enlisted by the Russians. 
He has 4,000 men. 

The first American novel was by Charles Brockden Brown, 1798. 

Wild roses are found on every continent in the world excepting 

The first lady telegraphic operator was Sarah C. Bagley of Lowell, 
Mass., 1846. 

Germany owns 10,220, miles of telegraph cable, or one twenty-fourth of 
the entire system of the world, while Great Britain owens two-thirds of 
the total mileage. 

Terra-cotta sleepers are being used in the construction of Japanes rail- 
roads, the greater resistance to decay more than compensating for the 
increase in cost. 

There has recently arrived in Germany the hide of an elephant that 
was 16 feet 2 inches high, this being over three feet above the largest 
elephant ever known hitherto. 

The prefect of the Seine having placarded Paris with posters describing 
the terrible effects of alcohol and absinthe drinking, the cafe propriators 
each filed a damage suit against him. 


An automatic machine for taking continuous photographs of growing 
plants is used by the agricultural department in Washington. Pictures 
are taken hourl}', and an electric light in used at night as exposures are 

A small tree has been discovered on the isthmus of Tehavmtepec which 
bears a flower that changes color as the day advances, being white in the 
morning, red at noon, and blue at night. It is fragrant onlj' at noondaj'. 

The tauric moss which grows upon rocks and roots of trees in this 
country furnishes an acid, chemicallj' obtained, which, while it produces 
no effect upon iron, renders gold, silver, steel, aluminum and lead soft 
and pliable. 

The Eskimos now have their own translation of the Bible, which has 
take 150 3'ears to complete. The Norwegian Pastor, Hans Hgede, who 
went to Greenland in 1721, began the work, which is completed and pub- 
lished b3' the Bible Society of Denmark. 

A Scotch firm is authorit}' for the statement that rubber tires for 
vehicles of all kinds will soon be displaced by pigskins. The firm has 
a process for tanning the skins which renders them so hard that when 
used as tires they will wear longer than rubber and give equal satisfaction, 
in other respects. 

A volume has just been published entitled "The blood Ro}'al of Eng- 
land," by the Marquis of Ruvignj^ containing the names of all the known 
legitimate descendants of King Edward IV. and Henry VII. of England 
and James III. of Scotland. It contains 621 pages, and gives the names 
of, living persons who have the royal blood in their veiiis! And even 
this list is incomplete, the author admitting that there are several fam- 
ilies whose descendants he has been unable to trace. 

The $2,142,207 worth of platinum extracted in the Gortlagodatski dis- 
trict of Russia last year is practically the world's supply of that meal. 

times called Widows' Island. Out of a total population of less than 
1,000 there are over 150 widows and more than 600 fatherless children. 
In 1898 , 186 fishermen from the island were lost in a single storm. 

as to the feasibility of a 'moter skate, ' and some people fully expect 
such an innovation. The Builders Journal says: "The cit3' man of the 
future will carry roller skates on his boots, each driven by a small 
electro-motor. He will rush along the pavements (or will a special 
track be provided for him?) with his finger on a button controling the 
current from a very compact generater. " 

a half million dollars from Norway and Sweden, and in addition the 
King has a little more than S82,000 a year from the fund devoted to King 
Carl XIV. and his successors. At the same time his Majesty has 
palaces both in the cit}^ and countrj', in Sweden and Norwaj', and he 
own stock in manj^ undertakings. 


annually amount to $88,000,000. 

for a new Protestant church in Barngkok. 

mind are anal3'zed by a medical exchange. "If a person were confined 
in a room with purple walls, with no color but purple around him, " say 
Medical Talk for The Home, "by the end of month he would be a mad- 
man." Scarlet has even worse effects, blue is depresssing; hence, "the 
blues." Green is soothing, and yellow also has good effects. 


The industrial institutions and the bank of Dowie's Zion City were 
placed in the hands of a receiver. 

The submarine torpedo boat Adder, while being towed to Norfolk, 
broke adrift, but was saved by Boatswain Deery, who swam one hundred 
yards in a high sea to carrj' a line to the boat; the submarine Moccasin 
went ashore. 

An explosion of dynamite and naphtha in a railroad wreck in the town 
of Greenwood Del. wrecked everj' residence in the town, killed two men 
and a baby, and injured nearly one hundred others. 

Martial law was declared in the Cripple Creek Colorado. 


The canal treaty was signed at Panama without amendment. The 
German Reichstag was opened, Chancellor Von Buelow reading the em- 
peror's address. The Spanish cabinet resigned. Russia and Austria 
proposed a plan for the joint control of Macedona by the powers. It was 
announced in London that the government had no intention to send the 
Thibetan expedition as far as Lhassa; Queen Alexandra celebrated her 
fifty-ninth birthday. Through the efforts of Minister of War Andre the 
first steps were taken toward the revision of the sentence of Alfred Dreyfus 
by the Rennes court-martial. The revolutionary government of Santa 
Domingo requested recognition from other countries. Many Chinese fish- 
ing junks were destroyed in a storm off South China, the list of killed 
reached into the thousands. The American ship Benjamin A. Sewall 
was wrecked off the Forniosam coast, and ten of the crew were killed by 


Edward F. Jones was born in Utica, New York, June 3d, 1828. His 
early years were spent on a Massachusetts farm where he acquired that 
intimacj' with "life close to the soil" which has made him the constant 
friend and patron of fairs and farmers' g'atherings and has given him an 
insight into rural life. It is not, perhaps, too much t o say that these 
early experiences, together with "e-ver^'-day manners" — their natural ac- 
companiment, — have made for General Jones more personal friends than 
any other public or private citizen of his adopted state can boast. 

At the outbreak of the Civil War General Jones was in command of the 
famous Sixth Massachusetts regiment which was attacked during its 
memorable march through Baltimore. The timely arrival of his com- 
mand in Washington on the evening of the nineteenth of April, 1861, was 
a telling blow at a crucial moment in the beginning of a great conflict. 
"Thank God you are here!" exclaimed President Lincoln on this occasion 
"for had you not arrived tonight we should have been in the hands of the 
Rebels before morning." 

At the close of the war, in October, 1865, General Jones removed to 
Binghamton, New York, for the purpose of establishing a scale works. 
This enterprise, begun in a modest fashion, has grown under skillful man- 
agement and advertising until it is now known throughout the world. 
There are few persons who are not familiar with the phrase, "Jones, he 
pays the freight," which was adopted as a slogan for the business twentj' 
years ago. 

For a period of six j^ears, baignning in 1835, General Jones served as 
lieutenant governor of the State of New York. In public office he was 


guided by the same careful methods that had previously distinguished him 
for integrity and ability, and which so inspired the confidence of political 
opponents that he was chosen as the head of the Capitol Commission, 
controlling the expenditure of more than a million dollars. 

For thirty-eight 3'ears General Jones has been a large employer of 
labor in Binghamton, and his business more than any other agency has 
made that city well known. The farmers as a class are especially under 
obligations to him for bringing the price of scales within their reach. 

Today, at the age of seventy-five, although blind and in the decline of 
life, the spirit and energy of this man remain unflagged. Turning to 
authorship, the undertook the writing of a tale of rural life in New 
Hampshire, which embodies many actual experiences of his own early 

The readers of Richard Baxter will agree that like Milton, his greatest 
trimuph was achieved after he became blind. 

Here is what reviewers have to say of this work. 

"Richard Baxter, a New England story by Gen. Edward F. Jones, in- 
troduction by Rev. Edward Frederick Trefz, D. D. 

First Congregational Church, Binghamton, N. Y. Oct., 21, 1903. 

My dear General Jones: In your portrayal of Richard Baxter, j'ou 
have made an analysis of the skepticism of modern days that seems to me 
to be -just and true. As a psj'choloigcal exhibition, it has the strength 
of George Eliot or Hawthorne. You have avoided the mere superficial 
aspect of the case ,by taking the man as the ground of conflict between 
the traditions of birth and environment and the reasoning of his conscious 
self toward the being that, in itself, was true. Your skillful and inevi- 
table conclusion — bringing him to a knowledge of truth through the overt 
act of prayer, I regard as the most reasonable argument against contin- 
ued skepticism that could possiply be made. 

I hope that your book will have a wide circulation and I hope that the 
regeneration or evolution of Richard Baxter will become the topic of 
many sermons. It is, in a large sense, a tremendous sermon. Very 
truly yours, — Edward Frederick Trefz" 

From the reviews: "In the pages of Richard Baxter there is reflected 
a sense of humor, depth of pathos, and religous feeling, contempt of cant 
and hypocrisy." "The pictures drawn are so real that one can hardly 
persuade himself that they are not biographical sketches of living per- 
sons." "No American author has so nearly approached the standard set 
bj^ Dickins in the deliniation of character. " "A rattling good story of 
country village life, filled with bright dialogue, sparkling repartee and 
sound philosophy." "The story is full of the characters of real life and 
contains a well sustained plot and a sweet love stor3^" "There is a 
strong argument against skepticism and a subtle, powerful plea for indi- 
vidual morality woven within the plot of this novel which stamps it as a 
work of distinct mreit. " "The author's style is delightful. It com- 


bines a smoothness and eveness of expression, a carefulness in the select- 
ion of character deliniations and a thoroughness of treatment that deserves 
special commendation." "Richard Baxter is interesting to the point of 
absorption." "All its folks are characters, not caricatures. " "Richard 
Baxter has attracted widespread, almost national attention." "It ap- 
peals to the reader's interest as it is true to life." "Every Yankee will 
read it with pleasure, as he is not therein a subject of ridicule." "So 
interesting is it that we have read every word, which a reviewer seldom 
does." "It is full of wit, humor and pathos." "Ah, what a lover was 
Mary Miles. " "He who does not read Richard Baxter misses the best 
novel of the day. ' ' 

12 mo., 350 pages, 16 illustrations. Handsomely bound gilt top, deckle 
edge, $1.50 post paid. 

NOTE:— Orders should be sent to publishers of "TALKS AND 
TALES" 1808 H Street, N. W., Washington, D. C, as Gen. Jones has 
offered to make a very liberal allowance from the profit of the sale of this 
book, to aid our Institution in its efforts to provide self sustaining em- 
ployment for the Blind. 


Most Americans know the story of one of the foremost shipbuilders in 
this country, who is blind, yet has for many years carried on his dififi- 
cult calling and continued to control one of the largest bodies of work- 
men in the world. 

Just such another story is told of the Englishman, Henry Fawcett, who 
at the age of twenty-five lost his sight by an accident. When he came 
out of the dark chamber where for months the oculists had exhausted 
their skill in trying to save his eyes, and found the world outside was 
black and always would be black for him, it is said that he was silent 
for a short time, and then, turning to where his mother was standing, he 
said quiety: 

"I shall give up nothing! I shall continue my life precisely as if this 
had not happened. I will not do one stroke of work the less in the world 
because I am blind." 

He kept his word, went back to Cambridg efor his degrees, studied law 
and went into Parliament, where he became one of those able, unimagin- 
ative correct men, of affairs so dear to the English heart and so sure to 
control English politics. If Henry Fawcett had been a poetic enthusiast 
his success would have been easier to understand, but he was always an 
honest slow plodder, satisfied to be right, but making no triumphant out- 
cry about it. During most of his life he was a poor man, his yearly in- 
come being less than twenty-five hundred dollars. But he became, first, 
one of the leaders in the House, the final authority on all Indian affairs, 
and afterward Postmaster-General. 

He lived for fifty full, happy years with the approval of the country he 
served, the support of hosts of friends, and of a wife beyond other women 
able and devoted. 

DaVid Heron's Temptation. 

"Silence! You dare to hint at such a thing to your own father!" 

It left the lips of the courtly mine-manager with a suppressed vehe- 
mence that he would have scarcely credited. He had half risen, staring 
at that Httle glass panel in the door which shut off the outer offices — 
almost as though he feared a buzz of threatening voices and a host of 
pointing fingers. But all was still. He wiped something from his 
forehead, sat back, and looked across into Sheila's grey questioning 

"I do dare," came her steady whisper. "Not for my own sake, but 
for yours— yes, and for David Heron's! He has trusted you, worked for 
you, beheved in you, to an extent that any disaster to you now would 
crush himself. What is that? — another inspired paragraph from an 
English newspaper?" She picked it up and read the first printed words 
slowly: "Shareholders in the almost forgotten Little GoHath Mine 
may be pardoned a thrill over the news that the elusive lode has been 
accidentally located. If the latest cabled reports can be trusted,there 

seems Httle doubt that the mine is yet destined to fulfill "She paused 

dropped the paper, and looked away, with quivering lips. 

"You're mad, my pet," he forced out, with a strained laugh. 
"You've dreamed all this. I'd send you right away only that a few 
hints of that sort breathed in your sleep might set the gossips talking 
and bring about an unjustifiable slump in the newly-revived shares; 
might then ruin myself and — as you suggest — David Heron with me!" 

"Dad !"the grey eyes were misty, her voice trembled, as she crept 
closer and put her hand on his shoulder. " Is it all a part you are play- 
ing? I understand very Httle, but I love you still; and my heart tehs 
me something is wrong. It breathes in the air in your own haggard 
face, in your sleepless nights. Yes, away in old England hundreds of 
people are waiting anxiously for the truth about this new lode in the 
old mine ; their shares are balancing for a rise or fall. Here, in AustraHa, 
what is going on? Why the secrecy, the procrastinations, the private 
meetings between you and this syndicate, which appointed you sole man- 
ager to exploit the mine on the strength of your reputation? Is there 
the shadow of shame behind? Is the reef struck as rich as all tliese 
reports have implied?" 

"What do you mean? "he asked, in a husky, dogged voice. 

"I mean, "she whispered, "that the shame of a crash and exposure 
would cHng to David for Hfe. I may not be able to influence you, but 
I know that he has been drawn into it unconsciously. Let me warn 
him of what may happen, even if it leaves him no alternative but to 
give up his position here and start Hfe anew." 

With his Hps hard set.Mr.Foskett rose and pointed. 

"Go! Go back to your friends, your music^to a woman's proper 


sphere! Remember, if any hints of the kind should get abroad, I shall 
know the source and how to act effectually. As you say, David Heron 
has all at stake, and will sink or swim with me. Now, maybe, you 
understand, and will keep your place as a woman." 

"Yes, "she answered, very pale now; "I understand now why 
you never let him know that I had ;^5,ooo in my own right, and why 
you feared I might wish to invest it in the mine shares, as you allowed 
him to invest his little all!" 

"Go!" he repeated; "you're in love with the man, and have taken 
my consent for granted, and that's sufficient. Never mind what I mean. 
Enoiigh that your dread is all imagination, and that in three nionth's 
time the shares will be standing at a premium in England." 

Mechanically Sheila passed the door of the private staircase leading 
to the living portion of the handsome mine-estate office. The instant the 
door had closed Mr. Foskett sprang up and slid the catch. He swerved 
round, both hands to his head. In that brief instant he had undergone 
a physical transformation. His face was blanched, his eyes were sunken 
and staring. What to do? 

He was drawn both ways and human nature had pulled hardest. 
True it was that, persuaded primarily of the syndicate's good faith and 
good fortune, he had sunk all his private means in the scheme and the 
purchase of shares at a discount. Now that the mine had proved bare 
of all but patchy veins of unpayable ore, he must go on at all costs; 
he must sell the remnant of his commercial integrity to save his money; 
he dared not draw back and face a crash. Over the seas there, the 
hundreds of eager eyes were turned toward Australia; he could seem to 
feel them burning into him, as he stumbled to his desk and clutched 
some papers. What to do? Every moment was precious. The arti- 
ficial "rig "in the shares had already begun; once a breath of the truth 
leaked out, the great outcry must come, and their price would recede 
to a dwindling-point. And here, only that morning, had come the 
cablegram from the startled agents in London. 

It was in cipher. Hastily unravelled, it read : " Only just discovered 
that influential body original shareholders have secretly dispatched 
from London Lambert Littlewood, famous Australian mining expert, 
by steamer Calthorpe, for surprise inspection of the mine and to take 
back samples of reported quartz. Calthorpe due to-day, Wednesday. 
Unless emergency instructions duly carried out, all is lost " 

He could bear the suspense no longer. With a groan his hand 
dropped heavily on the gong that sat tinkling a bell in his chief clerk's 
room. All or nothing now! His breath suspended, the muscles of his 
face twitching uncontrollably, he stood and stared at the baise door. 

Now it had swung back. David Heron came in with his quiet, 
confident step, the wave of curly hair pushed back from his forehead, 
on his lips the suppressed whistle of a man who had every cause to be 


"Want me, sir?" Then he paused, as if doubting whether it were 
the man who had entered the office that morning. "You are ill, Mr. 
Foskett! Let me " 

"Shut the door; fasten it!" came the husky gasp. "No time to 
talk. Look at this! and his shaking hand held out the cablegram and 
the private code. 

Wonderingly, David Heron took and compared them, and then 
looked back at his chief. 

"Honestly, I don't understand, "he said. "What is there to fear? 
Let him come by all means!" 

"Come! Here!" That sunken voice echoed the words. He 
moved slowly forward, till his hand gripped the athletic shoulder. "Are 
you mad? He cannot; he must not reach this place for three days, 
at least. He must be kept back at any cost, and you are the only man 
for the work; you are the one man in whom I dare confide. On you 
now depends everything. I must have time; if he reaches the mine 
before Saturday, all is over. What do I mean? That it will take me 
every hour till then to procure and place, so as to blind an expert.the 
blocks of payable quartz that I should have had in position weeks ago!" 

" 'Salt' the mine!" Heron gasped, vaguely, at the end of that 
pause. He had quivered and paled, but that was all as yet. "Is that 
what you mean?" His hand came slowly up. "Mr. Foskett! 
Have all your reports and glowing accounts been fabrications? Is all 
this a huge fraud to revive the share price? Have I been living in a 
fool's paradise? Is — is my money gone?" 

"Don't!" Mr Foskett tiptoed to the baise door, looked out at the 
row of unconscious clerks, and strode back with a sudden access of 
suppressed passion. "Think before you say another word! What is 
your loss to mine? My money, your money, is still safe if the truth can 
be kept back till the rise in the shares gives us our profit. You stare! 
I can face anything, risk anything, sooner than restart life as a pauper. 
No one here knows but our two selves. Keep this Littlewood back 
till Saturday, and he shall see. the payable ore turned up in tons with 
his own eyes. The surprise element of the visit is our salvation. He 
is bound to be impressed and carry back a report favorable enough as 
to developments to start a 'boom.' And then " 

"And then ?" David Heron had closed his eyes in a sort of in- 
credulous horror, to shut out the haggard, tempting face. For the mo- 
ment that wave of fierce resentment had prompted him to catch by the 
throat in one strangling clntch the man who had led him blind fold to the 
edge of this precipice. Just in time there came the recollection that 

he was Sheila's father still. "And then. ?" he repeated, bitterly. 

" Exposure and the felon's dock for all concerned!" 

"NO!" Nearer he came till his breath fanned hot on the young 
Scotsman's cheek. "Let me tell you all before you decide; realize 
once for all that I have stink so low that my alternative to ruin would ba 


suicide. No! that exposure need never come; it has been obviated 
by a fateful stroke of destiny. Do you know why the old managers 
ceased working the mine in reality? Heron, if the miners had known, 
they were working daily in the shadow of death. It was found out 
afterwards, and hushed up, to prevent a collapse in the shares; bxit the 
syndicate have found out and will utilize the discovery. 

"Listen! At the very foot of the main shaft, where the cage stops 
and the tunnels slope away, there is only a casing of black cement and a 
foot-thick layer of quartz holding back an accumulated flow of water 
from the lake a mile away — far more than enough water to flood the 
mine for ever and end its history. The moment our present object is 
attained that water will be set free. Think of all your hard savings and 
your hopes! Are they not worth a month's silence, a little help to 
this extremity?" 

" No!" It burst brokenly from Heron's lips. He had drawn slowly 
back; his hand was upon the door. "No! I see it all; I know now. 
You have been more than generous to me; that was the bait. You 
have allowed yourself to become the tool of obscure scovmdrels, but 
you do not make me yoiir tool in turn! If what you say is true, every 
moment longer that I identify myself with the Little Goliath Mine is a 
moment of everlasting discredit to the man who worked to win your — " 

"Ah, now think twice! You had forgotten. You hoped for my 
daughter. If the worst happens to me Heron, the worst happens to you." 
He pointed to the private door. "You force me to play my last card 
in this life-and-death drania. She was here a few moments ago and 
confessed that she loved you. ^ That gave me my idea; I admit it. 
Do you want her? Then that is her price. I simpljr say Lambert 
Littlewood must be kept back. There is no one but you to trust. 
If he should reach the mine to-morrow you will see no more in this life 
of Foskett and his daughter. Think!" 

"Heavens! Sheila the price of that!" That hard sob in his throat 
his face white and rigid with the intensity of the most terrible mental 
battle a man could know, Heron strode to and fro. Thrice he turned 
with that fierce "No!" on his lips, and thrice looked away from the 
man whose face showed all too plainly that he was at the end of his tether. 

"Is there no other way?" he begged, "can nothing be done?" 

"Nothing. To-day decides all. It is far more vital than you 
realize. It is that — against your money and Sheila. I mean that word 
and will keep it." 

"Does she know? Would she ever know if — if I paid your 
vile price?'' 

"I cannot say. She loves you; that in the woman is everything! 

"Aye! Heaven help me; I valued her respect, too. No matter, if I'm 
to play the villain, let me know at once. What is it that I am to do?" 

"Sh!" A tap at the door; a telegram for the mine-manager. 
He tore it open feverishly. His face was a study as he held out the form. 


"Your answer! — the solution! Look!From the agent at the docks; 

I wired him at once as a final resource. ' Lambert L and valet 

landed late last night. Took express this morning to reach Balcarras 
junction 7 p.m. to-day and has wired there for horse to ride straight to 
your office; thence to mine for inspection early in the morning. Means 
business ,but good sort. Cost of this information heavy.' It's clear- 
clear as dayHght!"breathed Foskett, in an agony of suspense. "You 
need not go far; he must take the five-mile ride through the dusk. 
His horse may shy; any slight mishap might happen to a man riding 
here, even if he knows the country. A drug would work; he would wake 
next morning to find himself many miles away, and nothing could ever 
transpire. Nothing too desperate!" he added, with a shudder."! 
have it! The creek path there, where the roads run three ways. He 

would be certain to slacken up, and then, a chloroformed cloth- " 

There was no answer. Still and strange David Heron stood while 
sixty might be counted: then, with that mechanical word, "The creek 
path!" he groped toward the door and was gone. I might have been 
one minute, or five, before the mine-manager came to himself with a 
start. That private door — it seemed as if a faint little moan had sounded 
on the other side of it. He stumbled forward and slid back the catch. 
And there, Hke a statue, with wide, horrow-filled eyes, stood Sheila. 
Her lips were struggling to speak. 

"Dave! Call him back! My Dave!" 

"You dare!" The desperate man gripped her wrist. "Sheila, 
'hink! He's gone to save us all! His failure may mean our ruin and 
your good-bye to him for ever!" 

The dusk had fallen swiftly. Just Hght enough now to frame the 
white, granite-Hke face of the man who stood there by the lonely creek 
path, his sombre ej^es staring away towards Balcarras Junction— that 
faint glow of light in the valley down there. So he had stood for an hour 
so he would stand for hours more, his fingers clutching the length of 
lariat-thong, his mind a chaotic blank. The express might be lat^e; the 
information might be wrong and the solitary rider never appear that 
way; but he must wait and realize afterwards what that hour of mad- 
ness had meant. 

What was that? His dull brain seemed to grasp two sounds at 
once— faint hoof-thuds far to the right and a pattering of feet on the 
near left. He shrank instinctively, as a flying, breathless figure re- 
solved itself in the dusk; and then — bitt the rest seemed part of the 
wildest dream. He only knew that two arms had circled his neck suffo- 
catingly; that sob after sob was breaking against his cheek; that he 
was staring down into the imploring eyes of the woman whose' love was 
to be the price of his life's dishonor. 

"Dave! Dave! Not for me— not for all the money in this worM ! 
Quick! I heard all; I've risked all and come to save you! Let that 
man pass free and I will answer! I will pay!" 


Far from realizing, he tried to resist, but a paralysis of mingled hope 
and fear seemed to hold his limbs. Nearer, nearer, came those hoof- 
thuds; but the lariat had been torn from his grasp. It was a woman's 
weak arms that drew him stubbornly back into deepest shadow ;a wom- 
an's hand that silenced his lips and held him in a spell as horse and rider 
loomed into view. The animal reared; its rider stared down piercingly 
at the motionless figures of a man and a woman. Next instant, little 
guessing at the tragedy that had waited in his path, Lambert Littlewood, 
the mining expert, had vanished in the gloom, and a wild little cry of 
reaction had broken from Shelia's lips. 

"My darling! Quick! Not a word — not a moment to be lost. 
No one knows. It came to me in a flash. This way, this way! In the 
mining-shed there — all the tools you will need. It's at the foot of the 
main shaft, where the tunnelling begins; it is marked with a white star 
on the plan — see, I have stolen the plan! Not a word! I can lower 
the cage and you; I am strong enough to night to raise it again. Half 
an hour's determined work, and then — b}'' dawn to-morrow the Little- 
Goliath Mine will be flooded and the great living lie nailed down for all 
time! Can you understand? Dare you risk it for my sake? If you 
love me prove it now. The ruin will corne, but no shaine need follow it. 
Better it comes now, and hundreds of innocent people be spared the loss 
that was to make the syndicate rich. Dave, you lose your all too but 
you win back the respect of the woman you love, v Is it worth it? 
Answer quick, and then I can tell you something more." 

And a new light — no the old light — came back into his eyes and 
looked down into hers. Something like a sob broke in the man's throat, 
as his arms drew her close in silent reply. 

Before midnight of that day a trickle of water from the lake a mile 
away had broken through the fissure and quickened to a rivulet that 
crawled steadily along the unfinished galleries and tunnels of the mine. 
All through the night that flow continued, and when dawn flvished crim- 
son and the mining expert drew up with Mr. Foskett at the mouth of the 
main shaft a glance showed that the truth about the Little Goliath Mine 
would never be known now. 

"Dame Nature has made sure of all our dividends!" was the historic 
remark cabled by Lambert Littlewood to England that day. "The 
mine, what ever its secret, is a thing of the past. " 

It was forty-eight hours later. Crouched at a desk in his inner 
office sat Mr. Foskett. He had heard no voice, no footfall, but a hand 
suddenly gripped his shoulder. He stumbled up wnth a cry, his fingers 
closing upon the butt of a revolver, as if the finality of all had come. 

"Sit still; put that down," said a quiet voice, thrilling with just a 
touch of sorrowful scorn. "You are safe, so far, in spite of yourself. 
True, your great scheme has failed, but " 



"I'm ruined," came the hoarse gasp. "I could face anything but 
that. I'm a beggar!" 

"Not quite," was the cold reply; and something fluttered down 
on the desk. "Take it! a cheque for ;!r5,ooo. It represents precisely 
the market value of your precious shares at the moment when, by my 
help, you hoped to inflate that fictitious value. No thanks! It is I 
who am the beggar, and your own daughter who^has given her2all to 
save you from the penury you so dread and so richly deserve!" 

"Then — then — you want her still? You come to ask me for my 
daughter, in return for this sacrifice of hers?" 

"No!" David Heron turned away. "I ask nothing. We two 
stand together now, with our way to inake in the world, but with per- 
fect love and a clear conscience to help us. Your daughter is here; we 
have come to say good-bye. You are saved, and my wife has paid the 

price ! 

A J^Iysterious VosUCard. 

The post-card lay upon the breakfast-table. It had sent an 
unpleasant shiver through my frame. I did not care to confess 
that I was afraid, and yet I admit that my sole seemed to have lost 
its savor and the coffee its taste. 

Hetty, my wife, looked at me with am.azed eyes. 

"Whatever is wrong, Willie?" she asked, in a perplexed tone. 
"You look as though you had seen a ghost." 

"Finish your breakfast," I said, trying to speak in a calm, 
jaunty manner. "Finish your breakfast, and 3^ou shall know all." 

When the meal had worn to its end I handed the post-card to 
my wife. She read it, uttered a little scream, and then asked, 
hurriedly : — 

"Oh, Will, what can it mean? What can it mean?" 

The card, which bore no name or address, ran thus: "Prepare 
to die before the End of the Year." 

"Mean?" I echoed. "Probably, dearest, it is a foolish hoax, 
but whoever is responsible for it ought to be ashamed of himself. 
I shall call in at the police-station on my way to town and hand 
the thing to the inspector. 

"Yes, do," she assented; "and when the wretch who wrote 
the card is caught, I do hope they'll send him to prison for life." 

Hetty's view of criminal procedure were somewhat vague. 

Inspector Bates flushed to the roots of his somewhat rubicund 
hair when I displayed the mysterious post-card to his astonished 

"This will mean plenty of work for the police," he observed, 
portentously. "Leave the card with me, sir, and I promise you 
that we shall do our best to trace the writer of it." 

"What is your opinion about the business?" I asked, after a 
short pause. 

He eyed me steadily as he said, slowly: — 

" Do you know any person who has a grudge against you, sir? " 

I laughed somewhat uneasily as I made answer: — 

"Well, I hardly know. I believe I am on good terms with 
most people. Stay, though. Now I come to think of it there was 
one man " 

"Yes, yes," cried the official, as he produced his big note-book. 
"Go on, sir, if you please." 

"Well, there was a little sneaking fellow called Shiplake, 
whom" Fki eked out of my ofifice for tampering with the cash -box. 
His last words as he marched out of the building were: "You shall 
pay for this, Mr. Leicester." 

"I see, I see," returned Bates, thoughtfully. " Er — by the 


way, do you think you could let me see some of this man's hand- 
writing to compare with the post-card?" 

"Surely, he would disguise his hand," I replied, amazed at the 
stupidity of the question. 

"A man can't disguise his hand when an expert is on the job," 
replied the inspector, in a dignified tone. "We have experts in 
the Yard, sir, who can perceive similarities, which would be quite 
hidden to you or me." 

"Good," I answered. "You shall have several specimens of 
Shiplake's calligraphy by to-nights' post." 

I kept my word, and forwarded to the station three letters 
indited by Shiplake during his office sojourn. But I might have 
spared myself the trouble, for on the following morning there 
arrived a letter bearing the Melbourne postmark. It was from 
Shiplake himself, and it asked for a testimonial. 

Now, of course, I did not gratify the fellow's insufferable im- 
pudence by granting his request, but his communication served a 
useful purpose and came at an opportune moment. It proved 
that the anonymous card did not emanate from him, seeing that 
some 10,000 miles of sea and land stretched between us. 

From whom then? 

This was the question which agitated me day and night. I 
went my way in fear and trembling. Frequently I would awake in 
the still watches of the night beheving that I should find an assassin 
bending over my pillow with dagger or revolver in hand. 

Hetty, who had always loathed dogs, and who had been sub- 
jected to several attentions in the shape of more or less painful 
bites, was actually heroic enough to suggest procuring one of the 
enemy to guard the house. 

"I hate the wretched things," she said. "But your Hfe, 
Willie, dear, is more precious than all else. So buy a dog, and we 
shall be comparatively safe." 

I acted on this suggestion. Towzer was duly installed in my 
residence, and made night hideous by his unearthly howls. Both 
my wife and myself enjoyed scarce a wink of sleep, but we com- 
forted ourselves with tlie reflection that if the writer of the myster- 
ious card ventured to approach our stronghold he would find in 
Towzer one who would "stick closer than a brother" — to use a 
well-known phrase. 

However, no opportunity was given to the faithful creature 
to exercise his powers as a policeman, and I was beginning to tell 
myself that the whole business was a hoax when I met a neighbor of 
mine who seemed torn with terror. 

"Look here, Leicester," he cried, "look at this card. I re- 
ceived it this morning ,and it has given me a nastv turn, I can 
tell you." 


"Great Scott!" I ejaculated. "The same words — the same 
writing ! ' ' 

It was only too true. Thompson, on hearing my remark, 
asked for an explanation, whereupon I told him that I also had 
received a similar mysterious card some weeks since. 

"I verily believe," he observed, with a shudder, "I verily 
believe that this is the work of some homicidal maniac." 

He tore himself away, shouting as he went that he was bound 
for the police-station. 

I shrugged my shoulders as he departed, for I knew well that 
the police, who had been unable to help me, would be powerless 
to offer any aid to my distracted friend. 

Three months passed. The year was approaching its end, and 
I began to feel terribly afraid. I purchased a revolver, carried it 
on my person day and night, and rarely stayed out after dusk if I 
could possibly avoid doing so. 

Meantime the authorities had discovered no clue to the identity 
and whereabouts of the writer of the anonymous cards, nor did they 
seem likely to do so. 

One morning when I was perusing my daily paper the follow- 
ing paragraph of a sudden burned into my brain. It ran thus: 

"Intense mystery is being caused throughout the Metropolis 
and the country at large by the circulation of some extraordinary 
anonymous post-cards. The communications warn the recipients 
to prepare for death before the close of the present year. We under- 
stand that all efforts to trace the writer or writers of the mysterious 
cards have thus far been doomed to failure. Various theories 
have been put forward by the police to explain the extraordinary 
occurrences, but the most feasible would seem that the cards have 
emanated from the hand of a homicidal lunatic. Further devel- 
opments will be awaited with eager interest." 

So Thompson and I were not alone, then, in our dire position. 
Others, also, had received these terrifying cards, and I confess 
the knowledge went a long ways towards soothing my .fears. After 
all the scoundrel, whoever he might be, could not very well commit 
wholesale murder throughout Great Britain and Ireland, and, com- 
forted by this thought, I slept more peacefully than I had done 
for months. 

But the wave of horror which had swept the country refused 
to be driven back. Everv newspaper in the land teemed with 
references to the cards. One enterprising halfpenny morning 
daily reproduced a facsimile of the threatening card, whilst a 
spiritualistic journal produced a clairvoyant sketch purporting 
to be the likeness of the evil person who had scattered the mysterious 
communications throughout the kingdom. 


Letters poured into the newspaper offices in shoals. All sorts 
and conditions of suggestions were put forward by enthusiastic 
amateur detectives. Some of the suggestions were more brilliant 
than practical. For instance, one inventive genius suggested that 
every pillar-box and letter box in Great Britain and Ireland should 
be watched by concealed persons. Another would-be Sherlock 
Holmes was of the opinion that blood-hounds should be given the 
scent by means of the ink upon the card. Obviously, the writer 
would also carry marks of the same ink, suggested this acute- 
minded reasoner, and by means thereof the hounds would quickly 
run him to earth. These and similar startling proposals were 
ventilated in the Press, but, as usual, nobody paid the slightest heed 
to them, and they vanished into obscurity and the kitchen-fire. 

The police of course, came in for' a large amount of blame 
They were called all manner of unkind things. Such adjectives as 
"lethargic," "antiquated," "inert," "futile," and other terms 
more brutal than complimentary were'showered upon long-suffering 
Scotland Yard. People who had lived in France fulminated on 
the weakness of the English detective force when compared with 
the brilliant Gallic methods, and altogether everyone was very 
angry, indeed and wondered why the police did not "do something." 

Mr. William Cureall ,the millionaire pill-manufacturer, filled 
by public-spirited enthusiasm, actually offered a reward of ;!^soo 
to any person giving information which would lead to the detection 
of the writer of the cards, but f^-vev this magnificent offer failed to 
elicit any useful facts. 

When Parliament met, a young member anxious to distin- 
guish himself brought up the question. It was reported as follows: 
"The Anonymous Post-Card Scare. 

"Mr. H. J. Rennett (North Brimley) asked the Secretary of 
State for the Home Department whether any special measures were 
being taken by the police to trace the origin of the mysterious cards 
with which the country was being flooded. 

"The Home Secretary: I have no information on the sub- 
ject. (Opposition laughter.") 

Even the August House of Lords concerned itself with the 
episode, and several distinguished peers stated that they had been 
subjected to the anonymous writer's attentions. In a word, the 
whole kindgom talked of little save the mysterious communications, 
and even the Continental journals referred to the business in a sar- 
castic manner. 

Illumination came in the fulness of time. On the 31st of 
December I rose from my couch, wondering what the day would 
bring forth. The card had said, "Prepare to die before the end of 
the year," and now the end of the year was at hand. Perhaps it 
was foolish of me to experience the slightest tremors, seeing that so 
many thousands of my fellow-countrymen had received similar un- 


pleasant warnings, but, after all, each man carries his own Httle 
bundle of hopes and fears within him, and I confess that I was not 
altogether easy. 

But, the Powers be thanked, relief was at hand. When I 
arrived home that evening I found my wife in a paroxysm of laughter. 

"Oh, Will, Will," she exclaimed. " It is too funny: — too funny! 

"What on earth is the matter?' I inquired, wondering whether 
she was on the borderland of hysteria. "Really, my dear girl 
if you don't stop this nonsense I shall send for the doctor." 

Again her laugh rang out, loud and long. 

"Oh, dear, oh, dear, I think I shall die," she exclaimed, whilst 
the tears ran down her cheeks. 

"It is the funniest thing that ever happened." 

I eyed her with as much sternness as I could muster. 

"Will you be good enough," I exclaimed, "to enhghten me 
as to the cause of your mirtli? " 

For answer she went to the mantelpiece and handed me a 

"What! Another card!" I yelled. "Great Jupiter! This 
is no laughing matter. 

"Read it, read it," she gasped. 

Seizing the card with trembling fingers, I read the following 
words : — 

" Hold former card up to the light." 

A sudden illumination began to break upon my misty brain. 

"The other card, the other card," I shouted. Where is it?" 

"Here, here, "she laughed. "Oh, Will, Will, I shall remem- 
ber this as long as I live." 

I bounded towards the gas-bracket, and held the threatening 
post-card which I had received months before towards the bright 
glow. Then I, too, burst into a long, wild, uncontrollable peal 
of mirth. 

For when the card was held thus there appeared beneath the 
words "Prepare to die before the end of the year," the following 
sequel : — 

"Which you most probably will do unless you purchase 
Cureall's Liver Pills, is. gd. per box, at all Chemists, or post free, 
IS. lod., from the manufacturers, W. Cureall and Co., Limited, 
St. Thomas' Street, London, S.E." 

"Well, what do you think of it?" asked my wife, with a 
merry smile, when at length the real meaning of the extraordinary 
post card had filtered into my brain. 

"What do I think?" I echoed, slowly. "Well, I rather think 
that I shall instruct my brokers to buy me another hundred shares 
in Cureall and Co." 

And I did. 

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RKV. H. N. COUDEN. President. 

E". E. CLEAVEJ^AND, Secretary 

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Contents for 3anuar^, 1904. 

Trip Around the World .._..- 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and their equally 
Famous Servants, and P. 1 

Four out of Five, who serve the King 

(A Serial Story) Edward Frauklin 5 

Facts of Interest 16 

The Bloom of Life (Poem) 17 

Theatrical Comment 18 

Mr. Growler (A Short Story) . 20 

Fashion Fancies 27 

Dorothy's First Appearance 30 

History of Columbia Polytechnic Institute 36 

Juvenile Strategy (A Short Story) 44 

Pinehurst (A Serial Story) 52 

We desire to call the attention of the readers of TALKS and TALES 
to articles which appear by the following occasional contributors, all of 
whom are blind: 

H. R. W. Miles, Mary E. Sanford, Charlotte M. Hinman, Alice A. 
Holmes, H. Stennett Rogers, Alfred S. Hosking. Alexandria Cameron, 
RoDerta Anna Griflfth, Rev. Ghon el Howie, Syria; Helen Marr Camp- 
bell, Clarence Hawkes, Mamie Ray, Hary Forrester, J. Newton Breed, 
J. B. Kaiser, Nina Rhoades, Fanny A. Kimball, Edward Franklin. 
Harry T. Nisbet, Sherman C. Smith, Prof. E. P. Crowell. 

Scene in the Rockies. 

XTalhe anb tl^alee. 

Vol. VII. January, 1904 No. IV 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and their Equally 
P^AMOus Servants, S. and P. 

By previous arrangement with Dr. Bennett, a noted Eng-lisli teaclier, 
we were notified that in two weeks he would be ready to undertake the 
journey into Africa which he had planned, since we parted company with 
him at Stockholm and accordingly we prepared to carry out his instruc- 
tions to join him at Algiers. 

As our steamer came in front of the city it presented the appearance of 
a spot of white on a stretch of green hillsides. The hillside on which 
Algiers stands is a steep one and the houses rise one above another like 
a series of terraces. All are whitewashed or built of light colored stone 
and as the hills on each side of the town and back of it are generally of a 
bright green the effect is striking. The housetops are flat and have high 
curbs around them. These housetops are the lounging places for the 
women and the play grounds of the children, and in former times, before 
the French conquest, men were not allowed there until after sunset. Coun- 
sils were exempt from this rule, but even for them it was not advisable 
to go very frequently to the housetops in daytime. 

The town seemed to be about half European and half African. There 
were blocks of houses that were absolutely European in every feature, 
and might have been taken bodily from a French city. The shops in these 
blocks were all French; the keepers were all natives of France o r their 
descendants, and the goods they sold A^ere all made in France or some 
other European country. As we strolled about we suddenly stepped from 
the French to the native quarter, and it was done, as you may say, in the 
twinkling of an eye. Here the buildings were all of the Moorish style of 
architecture,— blank walls facing the street with now and then a door 
opening upon it. These doors are always small; some of them stood 
wide open, and we tried to look in, but we were disappointed, as the 
passage way from the door makes a sharp angle which prevents your see- 
ing anything. 


The shops in the native quarter were just as Moorish in their appear- 
ance as the French shops were French. They are generally little warm 
cubby-holes, about six or seven feet wide, and as many feet deep; some of 
them are so small that the shopkeepers can squat in the middle of the floor 
and reach every article in his entire. stock without rising- to his feet. 

We heard some music in the Great Square or Place de la Republique, 
and went in its direction. The music was excellent, and was given by 
the band of one of the French regiments stationed here but we were much 
more interested in the crowd than in the music. » About one half of the 
people were in European dress and did not interest us particularly but 
the other half was made up of various tribes and people of northern Africa. 

There were Arabs and Kabyles, who live among the hills of Algiers, 
or in the city itself The Arabs walked about with a great deal of dig- 
nity, dressed entirely in white, including their heads, which were swathed 
in the same material. They evidently considered themselves lords of the 
land and that is what thej^ were before the French conquest. 

The Kabyles have more color in their garments than the Arabs have, 
and instead of wrapping their heads in white, they usually cover them 
with the red fez, or tarboosh. Then there were full-blooded negrose, some 
of them natives of this region, and others who were originally brought 
from the far interior and sold as slaves in Morocco. Slavery is not per- 
mitted in Algeria, and the slaves in Morocco know it very well. They 
make their way over the border, and though their masters succeed in get- 
ting their human property back again, they do not as a general thing. 

There were a considerable number of French and other European women 
in the crowd, but not many native ones. I am told that the native women 
here are quite secluded, though not so much so as in Turkey, Morocco, 
and some other Moslem countries. 

The doctor decided that we would make our departure from Biskra, 
which is at the end of the railway recently completed from Constantine to 
that point. Biskra is to the south and east of Algiers and to reach it we 
journeyed eastward to Constantine and Phillippville. 

About thirty j^ears ago the railway was completed from Phillippville 
to Constantine, a distance of some sixty odd miles. There is some fine 
engineering on this line occasioned by the passage of the railway through 
a range of hills. It was among these hills that Jules Gerard, the famous 
lion hunter, performed many of his exploits. 

On the way from Constantine to Biskra we passed a monument in the 
shape of a pyramid, which could be plainly seen from the train. 

"That monument has a curious history," said the doctor. "When the 
French came here it was very much dilapidated, many of the stones hav- 
ing been thrown down and scattered. The Third French Engineers 
camped here, and its colonel set the men to work collecting the stones that 
belonged to the monument. An inscription showed that it was to the 
memory of the commander of the Third Roman Legion, who was buried 
under the monument, and the stones that had not been disturbed were 
taken up, one by one, until the coffin, also of stone, was reached. The 


lid was raised and the skeleton of the old Roman was found undisturbed. 

The lid was immediately replaced and then the monument was built up 
again, every stone being- carefully restored to its position. When all was 
completed, the French colonel turned out his entire regiment,, marched 
passed the monument, and fired a salute in honor of his predecessor of 
two thousand years ago." 

The train moved on beyond Batua, taking a general course to the south. 
We were constantly studying the landscape, first on one side of the train 
and then on the other, calling each other's attention to anything that was 
new and curious. The train slowly ascended a gently sloping hillside 
and on reaching its summit the pace was quickened as the locomotive be- 
gan the descent. In a little while we beagn to notice the scarcity of vege- 
tation; the grass was in little tussocks, small bushes lined the banks of 
the little streams or the dry channels where the indications were that 
streams flowed in time of heavy rain, but there were no trees by the road- 
side, and no orchards or forests were visible. 

We were at last in the desert but the country does not look so very dif- 
f rent at a general glance from what it was further north, but when taken- 
in detail there is a great difference. 

The little streams that we saw, flow into the Sahara and are lost there. 

North of the ridge in the region called The Tel, the streams flow into 
the Mediterranean. 

Later in the day we reached El Kantara (The Bridge) which gets its 
name from a famous bridge built by the Romans, and repaired by the 
French. Here there is a gorge through which a small river flows, the 
sides of the clifi^ being nearly precipitous. Between the river and the 
side of the gorge there is barely space enough for a road, and for a con- 
siderable part of the distance the railroad track is laid in a niche in 
the cliff. As the train emerged from the gorge a grand transformation 
scene presented itself to our eyes. Suddenly we came upon an oasis,, the 
first oasis in the desert as one descends there from the north. Thousands 
upon thousands of date palms grow there; the water for their nourish- 
ment being diverted from the river as it comes out of the gorge. 

The date palm cannot exist without water, and the Arabs say that it 
must have its fruit in water and its head in the fire. A hot sun and a 
cloudless sky are necessary for its development, and it must have an 
abundant supply of water at its roots or it will surely die. The water is 
brought to it in channels or water courses, and sometimes carried for a 
short distance in goat skins. We observed as we were riding along that 
there was a trench around each tree. A barrel of water is put in each 
trench every other day, and that keeps the palm tree alive. 

The dates grow in a bunch, or crown, right in the center of the leaves. 
The Arabs take pains in the cultivation of their date palms, and they 
watch these clusters, or regimes, as they call them, to prevent any possible 
harm. When the dates are ripening they keep watchers amongst the trees 
to scare away the birds, and when the time of harvest comes they are very 
particular to collect the regimes when they are in their best condition. 


The dark green of the oasis made a marked contrast to the yellow hills 
in the background, and presented a picture that we were not likely to for- 
get. Long after we had gone beyond the oasis we continued to talk about 
it, and wondered when we would see the next one. Dr. Bennett overheard 
us, and said the next oasis of any consequence was at Biskra, and we 
anxiously looked forward to our arrival at that point. 

JUJ* On and on the train sped at a dignified pace of not more than eighteen 
miles an hour. We found out it was an express train, and wondered 
what would be the speed of an ordinary one, when an express was so slow. 
We asked the conductor on that point and were informed that the ordinary 
passenger train went only ten miles an hour, and was very often late at 

By and by we ascended a sandy slope, and at its top experienced an- 
other surprise. The train stopping to take in water, we looked from the 
window and our gaze extended over a low plain which stretched as far as 
the eye could reach, with a horizon like that of the oceani .n fact, the 
outspread level was wonderfully like the ocean or a great lake in appear- 
ance; so much so that we seemed to have reached a great bed of water, 
and so remarked to the doctor. 

"You're by no means the first to think so," he replied. "Many a 
traveler here has made the same remark, and when the first French expe- 
dition to spread the conquest of Algeria reached this point, the soldiers 
as fast as they came to the crest of the ridge, shouted in joy, 'La mer! 
La mer!' thinking they had reached the sea." 

"l don't wonder at it," said Mr. S.; "it appears wonderfully like the 
sea. And look! there are islands dotted all over it. I suppose thoes 
must be oases are they not?" 

"Yes, they are oases,"" replied the doctor, "and they make the illusion 
perfect. You see now how the desert has been so appropriately called 
'The Sea of Sand;' the camel is the ship of the desret because, as natural 
history tells you, he can lay in provisions and water for seven or eight 
days. He looms up high in the air, just as a ship does, and he makes 
long voyages from one part of theedesert to another. 

Just then the train beagn to move again and the doctor told us that we 
might now consider ourselvls facrly embarked on the great Sahara. 

Biskra was in full view from the ridge as it was the nearest oasis, and 
only a few miles away. In less than half an hour wew ree at the rail 
road station where we bade farwell to locomovives and cars, preparitory 
to our journey where railway trains do not abound, 


Four out of Five, 

Who Serve The King* 

BjA Edte/ard FranHJin. 

All "Rights "Reser-Oed. 

Chapter VIII 

John Fairchild was in his hbrary, walking to and fro with a letter in 
his hand. His brow was knit, and showed plainly that he was perplexed. 
A servant entered and presented my card. 

"Glad to see you, my dear dotocr," said Mr. Fairchild, "I wanted 
some one to talk with over a matter concerning our mutual friend 
Crawford. Here is a letter which I have just received from Griggs; 
read it." 

The letter, after giving an account of the manner in which Edward 
had assisted the excursionists, and his demand upon the railrand com- 
pany'sattorney for satisfaction of the small bill covering their expenses 
andloss of time, concluded by saying. 

Mr. Crawford is determined that the railroad company shall pay 
this bill. If the company refuses, he will, at his own expense, press 
the claim of each man in the courts — to the court of final resort, if neces- 

"I know it is the settled practice of the company to discourage 
all attempts to ignore its rule for disposing of such claims in its own 
way, by making it cost each htigent more than he will get, even though 
he should finally recover in his suit. 

"I have heard you say that this policy must be manitained at all 
hazards, to the end that the public shall come to know that it does not 
pay to bring a suit at law against a great corporation. I know, also, 
that as a result of this policy, all minor claims against the company 
are either abandoned or submitted to the company's attorner in the 
manner prescribed by the company, in which case the descision of the 
attorney is received as final. 

"Crawford and I have talked this matter over, and he understands 
as well as I do the settled pohcy of the company, but he holds that it is 
an usurpation of the authority vested by law, in the courts alone, and 
that no poor man who appeals to him shall be allowed to submit to it, 


as long as he has the abihty and means to contend against it. 

A word from you, sir, to the company's attorney, would settle all 
these excursion cases at once, and it seems a pity that Edward Crawford 
who, I know, has a matter of much more import on hand requiring his 
undivided attention, should be compelled to give time that the prose- 
cution of these cases will demand. 

The amount in controversy is so small that I submit the whole 
matter for your consideration on my own responsibility, and, of course, 
with out the knowledge of Mr. Crawford. 

I have the honor to remain, my dear sir, 
Most respectfully yours, 

Herbert Griggs. 

After reading this letter to the end, I looked up with a smile, saying. 
" Why, surely this is a very wordy communication for so small a matter. 
You will, of course, relieve our friend of any further trouble with these 
petty cases, so that he will be at liberty to attend to the bigger fish he has 
to fry." 

" Doctor ,if that letter had asked me to draw my check for a thous- 
and, yes, ten thousand dollars, to assist Edward Crawford to carry out 
any plan that did not touch a settled policy of our company, I should 
have drawn my check for the amount without any hestation, but if I 
should consent to a settlement of these claims, presented as they are, 
by a lawyer representing a dozen or fifteen men who are doubtless more 
or less connected with as many labor organizations and societies, it 
would be regarded as a back down on our part, and we should have ten 
or twenty years work to do over again, and be pestered with petty 
suits whenever any one imagined himself damaged or injured in any 
way for which he could be held accountable in the courts." 

"Well, I confess, Mr. Fairchild, that this is a revelation to me. I 
knew that the great corporations of the country were strong and power- 
ful, but I certainly was not aware that they had adopted an attitude, 
and followed a studied policy toward the public which placed them in a 
position to ignore just claims, however petty they might be." 

"Oh! for that matter Doctor, if anyone takes the course we have 
prescribed, our attorney will consider his case; we intend to do justice 
n such matters." 

"In other words, Mr. Fairchild, your company, if allowed to be 
judge and jury in its own cause, may sometimes grant the humble 
petitioner the relief he seeks. Praying your pardon, I must confess to 
holding Edwards Crawfords opinion, that this is an unwarranted usurpa" 
tion of the authority of the courts, and a menace to, if not an absolute 
subversion of the sacred rights of the people." 

John Fairchild laughed good naturedly. "The sacred rights of the 

p3ople," said ha, "is a phras2 ,with which politicians bait their hooks 

We practical railroad men are aware that sacred dollars count for a 

great deal more these days than sacred rights, but what perplexes me 

most is that Edward Crawford, whom I would give half | am worth to help 



on in the world, has started in to ride this hobby; and the worst of it is 
I know he is conscientious in what he does, I suppose I have got to find 
some way of saving him from butting his head against a stone wall. 
I don't see just how it is to be done, — though perhaps you could give 
me some idea." 

"Well, Mr. Fairchild, the only idea I could offer would go counter 
to your settled convictions of your duty as a railroad president, and I 
think I shall spare you their recital. I am on my way to my cottage, and 
just stopped in for a moment to say howd'y, and good-by; so will have 
to bid you good-morning." 

"Good-morning, sir," said John Fairchild a little stiffly, as he re- 
sumed his walk, perplexity showing still more deeply in his face. 

The man of iron was having a conflict with the man of heart within 
himself. Which would win was yet a problem. He finally put on his 
hat, ordered his carriage and drove to the office of the corporation's 
attorney. That gentleman received him with the usual deference paid 
by officers and employees alike, and Mr. Fairchild came to the point at 

"Mr. Braine, has your attention been called to the claims of cer- 
ain belated excursionists to be reimbursed for their expenses and lest, 
of time from the last Rockey Point excurison?" 

"Yes, sir," Judge Crawford's son called on me two days ago, and 
made a statement of their claims." 

"Good! Send him a check at once. The matter is in better shaps 
than I supposed." 

"But, sir, will this not be a departtire from our rule of not paying 
attention to any claims presented by attorneys? Would it not be better 
to notify the persons concerned, that if they with-draNv their cases from 
the hands of their attorney and present them in the usual manner, 
they will receive consideration?" 

"I agree, sir," said Mr. Fairchild," that this course is the one that 
you have been enjoined to persuc, but as no actual suit has as yet 
been begun, I think I will have you depart somewhat from the rule- 
this time, for reasons of my own. I will dictate a letter, which you 
will write above your own signature, to Mr. Crawford. 

Edward Crawford, Esq. 

Boardman Building, 
My Dear Sir: 

Becoming satisfied that the claims presented by you for re-im- 
bursement of the excursionists are just, I take pleasure in enclosing the 
company's chech for the amount mentioned in your statement. 
I have the honor to remian. 
Very respectfully, 
James C. Braine." 

"Good morning, Mr. Braine!" " Grood moning, sir!" and John 
Fairchild walked out of the office with the feeling that the man of iron 


and the man of heart had hit upon a fortunate compromise. 

The following morning when Griggs opened the mail and read this 
letter to Edward, the latter exclaimed, "Well, that beats me. If Jim 
Braine's voice didn't have fight in it when I handed him those claims, 
I'm no judge. Well that's a short horse soon curried', and I am glad 
of it, for I did want to give my attention to something else very much. 

That evening, each member of the excursion party received a 
check for the amount due him, and each was as much surprised in his 
turn as Edward Crawford was when he received the check from Mr. 
Braine for the whole amount; for they had anticipated a long and 
determined fight with the railroad company. 

As Edward boarded the train that evening for Middlebrook, a 
messenger boy, nearly out of breath from running to overtake him, 
handed him a telegram which he gave to Griggs to read. It proved to be 
a request that Edward shotild at once repiar to Washington to confer 
with the Secretary of War. That the matter in hand was urgent, 
appeared from the fact that the conference was appointed for lo a.m. 
on the following morning to keep which, Edward must leave Elmdale 
that night on the Federal Express. 

It was decided that Griggs should get off the train at the nex^ 

station, return to Elmdale, purchase the tickets to Washington and 

meet Edward on the arrival of the lo o'clock local, from Middlebrook. 

All the way home Edward was endeavoring to conjecture the nature 

of the business which required such urgency. 

At the supper table the judge showed his satisfaction and delight, 
by his animated conversation, jestingly predicting that the President 
would make a place for him in his cabinet., next. 

Leaving Edward to carry out his arrangements for keeping this 
appointment, it will be necessary to go back several years in our narra- 
tive, in order that we may understand the events which led to the sum- 
moning of Edward to this conference desired by the Secretary of War. 

Chapter IX. 

Following the investigation after the tragic death of the Czar of Russia 
on Macrh 13, 1881, at the hands of the Nihilists, an order for the arrest 
of the youngest son of a Russian noble named Ergonsoratkoff, had 
been issued. A friend of the nobleman, at great risk and hazzard to 
himself, had communicated this intelligence to the boy's father, and, when 
the young man was summoned into his father's presence and questioned 
concerning his connection with the plot of the Nihilists, he frankly 
owned, that while a student at the Dorpat University, he had secretly 
connected himself with the revolutionists, and had attended several of 
their meetings. 

He was aware that there were other societies existing that con- 
stantly drew recruits from the revolutionists. He had had no part in 
the plot for the assasination of the Czar, and had had no guilty know- 


ledge of its existence. The object of the organization he had joined, as 
stated in its constitution, was to secure for its members liberty of 
speech and the privilege of discussing political questions, looking only 
to the eventual substitution of a representative government, or limited 
monarchy, for the existing autocracy. But he had had no thought 
of attempting to bring about this reform by the assassination of the 
Czar, and was as much horrified as his father could have been, when 
he heard the news. 

When the young man had finished, the grave, sad face of his father, 
sent a chill to his heart. 

" My son, I fear that you have not only placed your own life in 
jeopardy, but that you have brought ruin upon our family. 

Alexander III. is not the liberal man his father was, and those 
misguided Nihilists, by their rash act, have blocked the wheels of pro- 
gress, and banished all hope for the creation of a constituent assembly. 
But we have no time to loose. Even while we are talking, the officers 
of the law, may enter to arrest you. But for the warning sent me 
by Melikoff, you would have been arrested before either of us knew you 
were suspected. Your protestations of your innocence of any guilty 
knowledge of the plot to assassinate Alexander II. will not avail you. 
You must fly at once, and leave Russia forever, or spend the remainder 
of your life, as a convict in Siberia." 

Hastily embracing his son, he placed in his hands all the ready 
money he could command, and bade him make his way, in the disguise 
of a pheasant, to the eastern frontier, where a less strict watch was kept 

" Do not attempt to leave Russia from any western part," he added, 
"it will be a long, dangerous and tedious journey, but your only hope 
lies to the east." 

The young man, after a tearful, but hasty farewell to his mother 
and two sisters, made his way out of the house, first having doned the 
garb of a pheasant, provided him by one of the servants, who insisted 
that he be allowed to accompany him. And after a long, wearisome 
and perilous journey, they shook the dust of Russia from their feet 
forever, as he then thought. 

Two years later, young Ergonsorat, as he was now known, met other 
fugitives from Russia, who informed him that shartly after his departure, 
his old father was arrested and sent to Siberia, on the charge of having 
assisted the escape of his Nihilist son, and his mother and sisters were 
reduced to want by the confiscation of the family estate. Ergonsorat 
, was then a clerk in the great merchantile house of Goldburg & Helbig, 
at Manila. 

Four years later, having changed much, and speaking the language 
of the Tagalos,. French, and Spanish, with great fluency, he returned to 
St. Petersburg, in search of his mother and sisters, but could find no trace 
of them. His father, he learned, had died after two years of convict 
life. Embittered, and caring Httle, he swore to devote the remaineder 


of his life to resist all forms of oppression, and injustice. Henceforth 
he would be a Nihilist at heart and in deed. Moved by this resolution, 
he determined to seek out one of his former classmates at the Univer- 
sity, who, he was satisfied, was a member of a group of Nihilists, al- 
though now in the confidence of the Czar, and holding an important 
position in the secret service. So fortunate was this man, while in the 
University, in holding a place of the highest esteem in the regard of his 
superiors while yet a leader of the set that laughed at the laws and regu- 
lations of the University, that he was known familiarly by his immediate 
associates as "Talleyrand," and when the revolutionists were being 
pursued with the greatest vigor, he became the trusted favorite of the 
chief of the secret police; while at the same time, he had been, and was 
still, believed by those belonging to the inner circle of extremists to 
be the leading spirit among them.. 

It should be stated at this point, in view of what follows, that the 
mother of Ergonsorat, was a member of a family of the French nobility. 
It was when his father was a member of the French legation at Paris, 
that he had wooed and won her; and, so much did Ergonsorat resemble 
his mother, that he was more often taken for a Frenchman than a Rus- 

While calling at the house of this former classmate, whose name was 
Zolikoff — Ergonsorat conceived the plan of striking down the Czar 
with his own hand. For, upon entering the house, he was accosted by 
one of the servants as M. le. Farge, who mistook him for the private 
secretary of the French Ambassador. Ergonsorat thought but little of 
this at first, but, while waiting for the inteview with his friend, the idea 
occurr-ed to him to at first assume to be M. le Farge, with a commission 
from the Ambassador. He hardly expected to be successful in impos- 
ing on Zolikoff, but, to his surprise, Zolikoff upon his entering the apart- 
ment, also immediately accosted him as M. le Farge. And instantly 
deciding to keep up this role, he pretended to be the bearer of a request 
from the Ambassador for a conference on the following day at the 
French Embassy, 

The interview lasted more than half an hour, during which time 
Zohikoff regaled his caller with an account of a fresh conspiracy 
against the life of the Czar, that he Zolikoff, had discovered, resulting in 
the arrest of five of the conspiritors. The Czar had desired to question 
him in person, concerning the plot, and he was to go to the palace early 
the following morning. Upon Ergonsorat's expressing the wish that 
he might be present at that interview, Zolikoff had craved his com- 
pany. It seemed to Ergonsorat as though fate had decreed that he 
avenge the wrong done zo his family. 

Caring little what the consequence might be to himself, he ac- 
cepted the invitation, fully resolved to mete out to Alexander III. the 
same fate that had overtaken his father, the former Czar. 

On his way back to his lodgings, he bethought himself of his inten- 
tion to call on an old friend of the family, Hcrrvon Oulburg, from whorn 


he might possibly learn something of the whereabouts of his mother 
and sisters. He did so, and for years afterwards, firmly believed that 
Providence had directed his steps. Great was his joy to find awaiting 
him in the hands of Herr von Oulburg, a letter from his father. Eagerly 
breaking the seal, he read as follows: 
My Dear Son: 

Your mother and father greet you with a loving kiss and their 

Reproach not yourself, my son, as the author of our unhappy lot, 
for before you have finished reading what I am about to write, you will 
know that had you never affiliated with the anti-imperialists', our fate 
would undoubtedly have been the same. 

The rash and foolish act of the Nihilists in taking the life of Alexan- 
der II. and the opportunities which this gave the enemies of Melikoff 
and myself to excite prejudice in the breast of Alexander III. against 
the ministers and advisors of his father, is alone the canse for our mis- 
fortunes. Had they not discovered your connection with that society, 
some other pretext or excuse would have answered their purpose as 
well. In proof of this my son, I point you to many other fathers, the 
names of whose sons, were included in the list, furnished by the police. 
Many of them are enjoying the confidence and favor of the Czar. It 
was known that I was among the counselors of Alexander II. when he 
abolished the secret police, and that I had favored the action of the 
Czar in freeing the serfs. Many powerful nobles had pretended to ad- 
mire and praise Alexander II. for his acts of humanity, while secretly 
hating him, and all his advisors for the part they took in it. Alexander 
II. was a good man, who had the highest and best interests of his sub- 
jets at heart. His assassination brought about a reaction that gave 
these nobles a chance to indulge the feelings they had smothered so 

I know your impetuous and generous nature, my son, and that if 
this letter never reaches you, you may go over to the Nihilists in the hope 
of aiding them to avenge the wrong and injustice to us. But it is the 
constant prayer of your mother and father that their last words may 
turn you from carrying out any such resolution, and that you will be 
able to reach such high ground that you may view these sad problems 
in their true light, the wise and just solution of which has been retarded 
a quarter of a century, by the rash unthinking, not to say insane, con- 
duct of just such impetuous young men as you, my boy. 

In this enlighetned age, it matters little whether the form of govern- 
ment be autocratic or democratic, if selfish and unprincipled men are 
permitted to administer it. And an enlightened Czar, with nothing 
to gain or lose, but the love of his countrymen, is far more likely to 
further the elevation and enlightenment of his subjects, than any govern- 
ment that the millions of uneducated, half-civilized men now subject to 
the Czar, would be able to establish for themselves, should they be 
granted that privilege. The waters of a fountain cannot rise higher 


than their source. A ship, tempest tossed upon the ocean, freighted with 
the Uves and destinies of children in the art of navigation, and safer to 
keep their captain at the helm, even though he be sometimes tyrannical 
than to try to get an olone. 

But I know you are anxioxis to learn how we fared after you parted 
from us, that sad day. You had not been gone an hour when the officers 
came for you. We informed them that you had departed on a long 
journey, and that we did not know when you would return. Two days 
later the same officers returned with an order for my arrest, and a 
week later, I was on my way to Siberia. Your mother — aiter arranging 
to send your sisters to her brother Michael, in Paris, followed me, selling 
her jewels to pay her expenses. She was not permitted to see me for 
weeks after her arrival, but one day she saw and recognized Brzinski, 
a Pole who was indebted to me for his escape from conviction, as a 
Nihilist, some years before. He held the post as Captain of the Guard, 
and, when she explained to him that I was among the prisoners under 
his charge, he permitted her to visit me, and finally arranged to assign me 
less arduous tasks, as my health was rapidly giving way on account of 
exposure to the rigorous climate. After the change he found employ- 
ment for yotir mother, which brought us daily together. 

It was remarkable how well she bore up under the trouble and hard- 
ship to which the was subjected. 

At this writing, however, we are both of us fast approaching the 
end of our journey, our only hope now being that neither of us will long 
survive the other. Brzinski has promised that this letter shall be 
placed in the hands of my old friend Herr von Oulburg, who will take 
charge of it, vmtil there is an opportunity to forward it to you, if your 
whereabouts ever becomes known to him. 

I have a conviction that sometime you will return to Russia, in 
quest of news of us. 

We have not heard from your sisters since you left us, but we trust 
they have heard from you. 

And, now, praying that God will bless and protect you, your mother 
and I bid you a loving farewell. 


When Ergonsorat finished reading their letter, which he did with 
haste, he read it again carefully and considerately, then, laying it on the 
table, he sat for nearly a half hour wrapped in deep thought. Going 
to the table, he once more read the letter until he came to the name of — 
Melikoff, which he carefully eraced with his pen knife, after which he 
folded it, and placed it in the pocket of his coat. For some time he paced 
back and forth in his room, then lighting a cigar he joined Herr von 
Oulburg whom he saw walking in the garden. Their conversation 
^ covered the happenings and events of importance that had transpired 
during the four years ue had been absent from Russia. He made some 
inquiries of Herr von Oulburg concerning recent arrests, to see if the 


latter had heard anything concerning the apprehension* of the five 
Nihilists mentioned by ZoUkoff; but found that his companion had 
heard nothing. He retired at a late hour, and the next morning, at 
the appointed time, was on hand to accompany Zolikoff. At the entrance 
of the palace, — Zolikoff exhibited the message from the Czar, making 
the appointment for a personal interview. The guard kept them wait- 
ing until his superior had been called to examine the paper. The super- 
ior at once greeted Ergonsorat as M. le Farge. After reading the Czar's 
message he said addressing Ersongorat, "Your pardon, Monsieur, but 
this paper calls for the admission of but one person. Zolikoff then took 
the paper and wrote on the back of it a few hnes explaining to the Czar 
that M. le Farge, secretary to the French Ambassador, had an oral 
message to deUver to his Majesty and had accompanied him to the 
palace. The ofhcer disappeared for a few moments and returned 
bidding ZoUkoff and Ergonsorat to accompany him, and, a few moments 
later, they were alone in the presence of Alexander III. The Czar 
greeting both cordially bade them be seated. Then turning to Er- 
gonsorat, he inquired the nature of his message. 

Ergonsorat replied that he would wait with his Majesty's permission 
until the business with Zolikoff had been transacted ,as his message was 
for the Czar's ear alone. Zolikoff looked up in surprise at this announce- 
ment, but, being desired by the Czar to proceed with a detailed state- 
ment of the information he had obtained that had lead to the arrest of 
the five Nihilists, he began with his student life at Dorpat, explaining 
that he had joined a secret society of the students because he suspected 
its character to be revolutionary. He had done so with the thought 
that he might thereby obtain information that would be of service to 
his sovereign, and that it was he who had furnished his present chief 
with a list of the members of that society after the assassination of 
Alexander II. He named a*number of his former school-fellows who 
had received life sentences and had gone to Siberia; others had fled the 
country, some of whom had returned secretly and had unsuspectlingly, 
confided their return to him. Through them he had learned of the 
existence of a group of Nihilists. 

Turning to Ergonsorat, after Zolikoff had passed through the inner 
gate of the entrance, Alexander exclaimed, "What a pity it is that we 
should be compelled to make use of such reptiles as that to guard against 
the plots of unfaithful subjects, — but to the business of the Ambassador. 
What message has he for me that he daers not trust to paper?" "I 
pray your Majesty to read this letter," said Ergonsorat, and, as he 
spoke, he intently scrutinized the face of the autocrat of all the Russians" 
When the Czar had finished reading he inquired, "Is this all you have 
to show me?" "It is," replied Ergonsorat unconsciously betraying 
such feeling in his words that the Czar looked up quickly and their eyes 
met. "Who are you," he exclaimed. "I am the son of the man who 
wrote that letter." The eyes of the Czar followed the right arm of 
Ergonsorat, noticing for the first time that his hand was thrust into the 


side pocket of his blouse. With scarcely a perceptable start his face 
at first became a shade paler, then a smile crept over it which finally 
broke into an ironical laugh. " May I inquire what amuses your Majest- 
ty?" "Yes, your presence here. Beneath these apartments to the 
depth of half a hundred feet a solid block of masonry constructed under 
my own watchful eyes with all sides guarded from its foimdation by 
picked Swiss, French, and Russian giiards, who speak only their native 
tongue. With the entrance to my presence guarded, as you saw it when 
you entered, a chance resemblance between you and the secretary of the 
French Ambassador has enabled you to stand in my presence, clasping 
in your right hand, as I have no doubt, a messenger of death; and I 
was just now thinking how futile are such precautions as I have taken, 
if it be the will of God that I should die by the hand of an assassin." 
"Your Majesty mistakes my intention. I/ast night, before that letter 
was placed in my hands, I had resolved to take advantage of the acci- 
dental discovery that I bore such a striking resemblance to M. la Farge, 
to avenge my father's wrongs and rid my covmtry of a tyrant: but from 
boyhood I learned to honor and obey my father and loved my mother 
devotedly; they have spoken to me from their graves in Siberia, and I 
have no other thought since reading that letter than to do my father's 
bidding. It is therefore to a man whose death has undoubtedly been 
cau.sed by the horror of his imprisonment by the orders of his sovereign, 
to whom he was fidelity itself, that your life is spared; but before I 
left my native country forever, I determined that you should know 
how he repayed the injustice done him." "And has your father's 
reasoniHg in that letter been in vain?" Do you not see that, though 
men say that my power is absolute over the lives of a hundred and twenty 
millions of my fellow men, I am, after all, but a creature of circumstance.? 
You heard that vipor that has just left our presence declare that your 
down-fall was due to the information which he furnished. Was that 
information true? " 

"I will answer your Majesty's last questioa first. It is quite true 
that at the University I belonged to a society whose members were 
required to safeguard the interests of all in the free expression of their 
opinions, by taking an oath that they would faithfully keep secret the 
proceedings of the society. Many of the members were absolutely 
loyal to the present autocrat form of government. There were others 

who held a republic, or a limited monarchy like that of Great Britain, 
to be more desirable; I was among that nttmber. There were some 
that were loud in their denunciations of the Czar, and who would oc- 
casionally throw out hints that any who might feel like joining the 
Nihilists movement could get further information from them. The 
treachery and perfidy of the man whom your Majesty has been pleased 
to call "a viper," releases me from my obligation of fidelity to him. I 
assvire you that he was the leading spirit among the extremists, as he 
was in all circles of students that felt free to disregard the discipline 
and rules of the University; his ability to hoodwink the faculty and 


rraintain their inplicit confidence in him, earned for him among the 
sttidents the sobriquet of "Talleyrand,"; and I have no more doubt 
that the Nihilists believe him to be faithful to them and their plotting 
than I have that he would prove treacheroiis to you if he could thereby 
serve his own interests." "I fully agree with you, btxt that could never 
be; and, as we have nothing to fear except from the \inripe judgment 
and misguided action of men with generous impulses and a willingness 
to sacrifice to what they deem will advance the interests of their country, 
reptiles of his stamp never play us false. But enough." And, as 
Alexander said this he advandcd and cordially grasped the hand of Er- 
nonsorat. "You need not answer my other question; I know that I 
can trust you, and I want you to accompany me to interview those poor 
misguided Nihilists saying which, Alexander toviched one of the several 
electric bultons on hdesk, and Ergonsorat heard the bolts of the barred 
inner gate releasedfrom their fastenings, and he doubted not that this 
was the signal for the appearance of a dark, bushy whiskered Russian 
about the size and build of the Czar. The Czar then passed into an 
inner chamber reappearing in a few moments looking so much like the 
guard who had just entered that Ergonsorat himself could hardly dis- 
tingtiish one from the other. The guard apparently understood what 
was wanted, for he quietly took his seat and began reading a book. 
Ergonsorat then comprehended the extent of the trust which the Czar 
was imposing in him. These men had changed places for the time being, 
and the guard and himself were porbably the only ones admitted so 
unreservedly to the confidences of the Czar. Writing a few lines on a 
piece of paper, whichhe signed and sealed with his signet ring that 
he had removed from his hand, he motioned Ergonsorat to follow, 
and they departed to carry out the resolution of the Czar to interview 
the arrested Nihilists. 

Facts of Interesi. 

The Mad Mullah has once more taken to the warpath but this time he 
is likely to meet with the downfall that has been in store for him for 
some time. His base of supplies is destroyed and the British soldiers are 
prssing him hard. 

The Cuban Riciprocity treaty went into effcet at one minute past mid- 
night on Decemper 27th. By it the Cubans get a twenty percent advant- 
age over our higher rate of tariff, and we get from twenty to forty percent 
advantage on butter, cattle machinery, glass, porcelain, cutlery, printing 
paper and cotton goods. 

A hearse bearing a placard stating that the undertaker paid union 
wages to procure protection from strike sympathizers, is the latest devel- 
opment of union labor requirements in Chicago. Perhaps we shall have 
walking delegate of the burgler's union next. 

Germany is having an out break of her tribesmen in her South African 
colony to contend with. The reason given is that it has been contrary to 
law for the settlers to arm their servants, and the Hottentots have grown 
bold in their cattle stealing operations. 

The Friar lands in the Philippines will cost the government $7,239,774. 

The money goes to the Pope in trust for the establishment of schools, 
and the occupants of the lands are given an opportunity to purchase their 
holdings on the installment plan. 

The recent elections in Spain show gains for the Republicans. They 
do not want a republic but a refomed monarchy. King Alfonso has been 
experimenting in reclaiming waste lands. He would like to have the at- 
tention of his subjects directed to improving the land which has been 
abandoned many years by the people who have preferred to have their 
farming done by the population of Spanish dependencies. 

The Spaniards do not take kindly to work, and are not likely to profit 
by his example. 


The Bloom of Life* 

Here in the quaint old parlor 

They sat as the twilight spent ; 
Dreaming, only dreaming 

Of an old time sentiment. 

.^ ^ 

He with a beard as snowy ' ^^ 

As the cap on her dear old head ; 
Both are only dreaming 

Of the days long gone and sped. 

•1 i^ 

Out of the hazy September, ] 

As the shadows slowly creep, 

A form looms up in the twilight. 

And her pulses thrill and leap. 

He, in his fancy roving 

Back through the bliss and fears. 
Sees in the twilight waiting 
[ His love of the golden years. 

Into her eyes he's gazing, 

Here while the sun sinks low; 
Both old faces are glowing 

With the bloom of long'ago. 

— Horce Seymour Keller. 

Mistress. — "Good gracious, Susan, the hduse is on fire.!" 
Susan. — (an overworked "general"): "Well, mum, it's com- 

fortin' to think that at last there's a fire in the 'ouse I 'aven't 'ad 

to light!" 




In this twentieth century .where improvement is the order of the day, no 
more marked advancement has been made than in stage effects and real- 
ism. The memories of Edmund Keene, Booth, Barrett, and McCullough 
are only marked by the crude effects of the scenic-builder's art. In 
those days when Edwin Booth gave to the world his immortal concep- 
tion of " Hamlet" the extent of the scenic dress was a drop curtain and 
bare walls, and perhaps at rare intervals a few badly painted trees, or 
set house. The bare walls were called castles, the woodwings, mountians, 
and frequently no scenery of any kind was to be had. But now, half a 
century later a metamorphosis has been worked; stately trees, lofty 
mountains, vaulted halls and imposing mansions are to be found in 
stage-land; but it has remained for the management of "Paul Revere" 
to produce in a wonderfully realistic manner, a ride for life, on horse- 
back, passing villages, through valleys, forests and over hills, one rider 
pursuing another, the pursued steadily gaining on the pursuer, finally 
leaving him far behind, and at the end riding into a village and arousing 
the town and warning the villagers of the approach of the British. 
All this takes place in full view of the audience, two spirited horses ridden 
by real riders, taking four minutes to cross the stage and yet riding at 
terrific speed all the while. This is accomplished by two enormous 
tread-mills on which the horses are compelled to gallop. The effect 
of the speed, the passing towns and landscapes, is affected by three 
gigantic panoramas, each 1800 yards long or 16,200 yards of canvas 
painted into the semblance of trees, mountains, valleys and towns and 
revolving across the stage at varied amounts of speed. This is used in 
the thrilling ride of Paul Revere. Besides this, a truthful representation 
of Boston Harbor in 1775 is given, and many other scenes of beauty 
and historical correctness. In all, the management has expended 
Fifteen Thousand Dollars upon scenic , mechanical and electrical effects 
and the attendant accoustic properties. Two large 60 foot cars are 
used in its transportation, and an extra crew of seven stage mechanics 
is carried by the company. The invariable instruction to local manage- 
ment is to clear the stage from wall to wall, as the company carries 
everything even to the lights. 

"Mice and Men" is by Madeline Lucette Ryley, and takes 
its somewhat pectxliar title from Burns' lines, "The best laid 
plans o' mice and men gang aft agley." A simple story, 
intense in heart interest and full of characteristic human im- 
pulses, is built around this quaint old bit of Scotch philosophy. Mark 
Embury, a philanthropist and somewhat pedantic bachelor-scientist, 
wearies of a life of single loneliness and determines to take a wife. He 
has his own ideas of the fitness of a helpmate, and women in general do 
ot measure up to h lofty standards and scientific theories. He de-. 


cides to train a young girl according to his ideas and make her his wife 
Half a dozen or more girls are sent to him from a foundling asylum and 
their visit and his task of making a selection form one of the first pleas- 
ing little incidents of the play. , His choice falls upon Little Britian 
(Miss Russell), whose training for her future state in life at once begins. 
Almost at the same time Peggy, as the girl is called by Mr. Embury 
begins learning another lesson that all hearts turn to so readily, that 
of love, and her progress in it is much faster. Her tutor in this new 
branch of learning is Captain George Lovell, nephew of Mark, who at the 
beginning of the story is overwhelmed with debt and entangled in a 
romantic aflfair with the wife of Roger Goodlake, a neighbor. He is 
banished to Dublin for two years, but returns and becomes more com- 
pletely in love with Peggy than ever, as she does with him. There are 
complications and misunderstandings, but on the eve of Mark Em- 
bury's marriage to Peggy, Mark's eyes are opened and he generously 
resigns the girl who had won all his big heart, but whose own heart had 
gone elsewhere into the keeping of his nephew. 


Mr. Grotiipler. 

One evening just prior to tea, Joseph Growler, Esquire, sat poring 
over the financial columns of his evening paper. There was a smile of 
grim satisfaction on his thin, hard face, for only that morning he had 
dealt the death-blow to an industrial firm that had long been a source 
of annoyance to the great syndicate of which he was virtual head. Be- 
sides, the doing of it had brought a comfortable feeUng of gratified 
personal revenge — or rather the squaring of a long-standing account. 
These two things, and another, made Mr. Growler feel almost gay. 

Suddenly he cast the sheet from him with a contemptuous gesture. 
"Pshaw! let 'em talk!" he sneered. "They're all dying to call me 
'scoundrel,' I know they are; and all the while they're pawning their 
very coats to buy Growler stock. I am on the boom, sirs; but what of 
that? I snap my fingers at 'em all. I've hved to bring Leesome and 
Co. to the wall, and I feel that the years so spent have not been wasted — 
by no means; quite the reverse, indeed. I've had enough of finance 
now, though, and I shall henceforth devote myself to the tender things 
of life. Aha! People wonder why I, who am richer than even they 
dream of, am content to inhabit this couple of poor apartments. But 
then they don't know my dear Httle Miss Dale — my dariing Agatha!" 

A softer light came into his keen eyes. His hand strayed to his 
vest pocket, from which he produced a small morocco-bound case. This 
he surveyed with a pleased chuckle, then he pressed a spring, and the 
flashing of many tinted fires made him wink. "Fifty pounds' worth. 
Well it certainly is showy; but I wonder now whether I ought to have 
made it a hundred? But it's too late now." He closed the case with a 
snap, replaced it in his pocket, and gave a drag at the bell-pull. Then 
he resumed his musing. 

"They don't know — how can they? — that I'm going to marry her; 
and neither does she, the innocent Uttle darling. I shall tell her so 
after tea, and" — he chuckled audibly — "how she will stare, to be sure. 
He, he! But the deuce! What's become of that girl? This delay is 

He gave another and fiercer pull at the cord. The jingle of the 

bell came to his ears from the kitchen; then, after an aggravating 

pause, he heard the maid humming her cheerful way along the passage. 

"Did you ring, sir?" she inquired, innocently, as she opened the 


"Tea!" said Mr. Growler, coldly; "and when that's set I'll have 
something to say to you." 

"Indeed," said Mary Ann. "Now that's re9,l interesting. I've 


been setting your meals for more'n a year, and it's the first time " 

"Tea!" thundered Mr. Growler, with a menacing flash. 

The girl blanched, and fled headlong. But when she reappeared 
with the tea-things there was a flush on her face and a combative look 
in her eyes, which told that her courage had returned. 

With much deUberation she proceeded to arrange the table, and 
when everything had been accomplished to her satisfaction she looked 
at Mr. Growler with a saucy upturning of her nose. "Now," she said, 
acidly, "I'm ready to Hsten, and for 'eaven's sake try to be perHte to 
a lady." 

Mr. Growler's glance became a glare, and his face slowly crimsoned. 
Such audacity was unheard of. "Girl, you're mad! stark, staring 
tnad!" he gasped. 

Mary Ann dropped a mocking curtsy. "It's very kind of you to 
mention it, I'm sure; but that's neither here nor there. Anyhow," 
meaningly, "I ain't a cold-'earted wretch as goes about the world 
a-robbin' the widow and horphan like some folks I know as ought to be 
ashamed of 'emselves." 

Mr. Growler's glare became absolutely tigerish, and he raised his 
teacup as if about to launch it at the head of the daring maid. Bui 
Mary Ann was not to be daunted. 

"Do it; oh, yes, do it," she cried, recklessly. "I know you're a 
brute, and worse than that if all were known, I do believe. Dq. it! 
I'd go cheerfuHy to horspital with a broken 'ead if I knew you'd be 
cooling your heels in prison over it." 

Mr. Growler replaced the cup on the table. "Woman," he said, 
harshly, "you are a disgrace to your sex, and I shall insist that Miss 
Dale dismiss you from her service at once. Meanwhile, I demand to 
know the meaning of this extraordinary outburst." 

" Hextraordinary, you call it?" panted the maid, hotly. "I say 
it's a wonder I don't take my ten fingers to you. You've as good as 
turned me out of a situation; and more'n that, you've gone like a 
devouring crocodile and stung the 'and of an angel in disguise, if ever 
there was one — I mean my poor missis, and no other. I " 

"Hold," interrupted Mr. Growler, sternly. "If you will talk, do 
try to make yourself intelligible, and be as brief as possible." 

"As I was about to remark when you interrupted me so ru-dely — 
but it's just what I expected — I'm going away to-morrow, and I'll 
speak my mind, which I've wanted to do this many a long day,. if you 
kill me for it. Five 'undred pounds, every penny gone, and you've the 
downright imperance to sit there a-toasting your toes at the fire you 
grudge to pay for, and her you've robbed — yes, cruelly robbed! — crying 
her dear eyes out this whole blessed day." 

"Look here, my girl," said Mr. Growler, coldly, when the irate maid 
paused for breath, "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking 
about, and as my tea is growing cold you might have the goodness to 


"It'll have to freeze solid before it's as cold as your 'eart, anyhow," 
snorted Mary Ann. " Bringing the dear thing to the workus door, or 
at least making her a penniless hexile across the stormy ocean to her 
brother in Australy. It's my humble opinion the poor soul's so fright- 
ened of you that she dussn't open her mouth about it. If the house 
were mine, I'd show you. Out you'd go this blessed minit! There; 
I said I'd do it, and I have." And with a whisk of her skirts and de- 
fiant scorn in her eyes Mary Ann sailed from the room. 

The outbreak had a disturbing effect on Mr. Growler's usually 
healthy appetite. As he toyed with his tea he felt himself becoming 
a prey to vague alarms. An awful something had happened to some- 
body, but who? His brain refused to steady itself. For the moment 
the angry maid's torrent of eloquence had quite swamped his reasoning 
powers. It was clear, though, that she had lost her place, and that she 
put the blame of it on him. How absurd! He never interfered in the 
management of tiie household. But why had the girl lost her place? 
Ah! she mentioned five hundred pounds. Was it possible she meant 
that Miss Dale had lost that sum? And someone has going to Australia. 
Could she have been referring to Miss Dale again? Ruined! Going 
abroad! Mr. Growler sprang impetuously to his feet. "I don't be- 
lieve it; and, what's more, I sha'n't have it," he cried. "I shall tell 
her so at once." 

But the next instant he dropped back limply into his chair. It 
had occurred to him, that he was powerless, as yet, to prevent Miss 
Dale going anywhere she chose. She was her own mistress, while he 
was only there on sufferance, as it where. He had trampled rough- 
shod over hundreds of hapless mortals in his gold-coining career, think- 
ing naught of the ruin and misery that strewed his track. He had been 
remorseless as a sledge-hammer in all his dealings with his fellows, taking 
his due to the uttermost farthing, accepting adverse blows with stoical 
fortitude. Now he knew that love, not gold, was Ufe, and he shook as 
with ague at the bare possibility of losing Miss Dale. But he would — 
he must — see her at once. Again he gave an insistent jerk at the bell- 

It seemed an age ere Mary Ann appeared, and when she beheld 
the condition of the tea-table she favored Mr. Growler with a pleased 
nod. "Well, sir," she said, brightly. 

Mr. Growler repressed his agitation by a powerful effort. 

"Will you please give my compliments to your mistress, and ask 
her to grant me an interview, now?" he said. 

"Missis is out and won't be home for an hour," replied the girl; 
"but to be sure I'll tell her. I thought as how you'd come to see what a 
monster you've been. But I wonder at your cheek. If I'd done what 
you have I'd go straight down to the river and walk in. It 'ud do you 
good, and the world wouldn't be a penny the worse!" 


Mr. Growler stood with the handle of Miss Dale's sitting-room door 
in his hand, his hard face screwed into an apologetic smile. Now that 


he was face to face with his heart's desire his courage was quickly oozing 
away under the scrutiny of a pair of blue eyes — beautiful, timid eyes 
usually, now glowing with a light he had never seen there before. His 
own glance wavered and strayed, and he strove to get rid of a lump 
that would rise in his throat. And yet Miss Dale did not look formidable. 
A slight, pale-faced, small and plain lady of no particular style of beauty, 
whose dark hair was plentifully streaked with gray. 

"You wish to speak with me, Mr. Growler. Pray sit down." 

" Er — not at all — I mean yes, certainly. By the way, the weather is 
rather warm for the season. Don't you think so?" he said. 

A smile flitted across the lady's face. "I don't find it particularly 
so," she said. 

A pause. Mr. Growler cleared his throat. 

"As I think I said. Miss Dale, a few words in private " 

"I am at your service, sir; no one can hear us here," said Miss 
Dale ,in a tone that bespoke mingled impatience and curiosity. 

Mr. Growler gulped. "Your maid — a clever girl that, Miss Dale, 
but just a little — er — impetuous — mentioned to-night that you are 
parting with her. Is it true? It isn't mere idle curiosity that prompts 
the question." 

A shadow of pain appeared in Miss Dale's face. "It is," she said. 

"Humph! She also mentioned another thing that filled me with 
amazement and incredulity, namely, that you are seriously contempl ating 
going abroad. I told her — did I, though? I'm not quite sure — that 
she was talking a lot of confounded nonsense; no doubt about it — con- 
founded humbug! The idea is too ridiculous." 

"On the contrary, Mr. Growler, she spoke only truth." Mr. 
Growler grasped the arms of his chair for support. 

"And — and may I ask why?" he said, faintly. 

Miss Dale was beginning to labor under an agitation that was 
painfully apparent in the nervous clasping and unclasping of her hands 
and the quick flushing and paling of her cheeks. "Oh, why do you 
ask? You know only too well, "she burst forth, tremulously. 

"Upon my word, I don't," said Mr. Growler. "But," eagerly, 
"surely you are open to reconsider your resolve. "My dear Miss Dale, 
I am about to ask a very great favor of you; the greatest, indeed, that 
is in your power to confer. I'm not good at talking sentimental rubbish," 
he proceeded, "but — I say, Miss Dale, will you marry me?" 

The lady gasped, covered her face with her hands, and shrank back 
trembling. Mr. Growler felt his lips go suddenly dry, "Perhaps I've 
been hasty. Miss Dale," he said; "but I assure you I didn't mean to 
hurt you. I — I love you so, my dear, that I can't find words to express 

the feeling; and " 

"Please stop. I can't bear it!" interrupted Miss Dale, in deep 
distress. Then she burst forth passionately: "Why do you insult me 
like that? Until to day I thought you an honorable man, but what am 
I to think now? " 

"What, indeed?" echoed the bewildered suitor, feebly. 


" My own puor savings I care nothing for, althougn they were a 
ward between me and poverty. But to have you so far forget yourself 
as to ask me to wed you — you! who have this day brought poor Arthur 
Leesome, his wife and children to beggary — oh, it is too much! Please 
go away" 

But Mr. Growler sat as if suddenly petrified, his face blanched and 
drawn. The grim irony of the business had blighted his faculties for the 
moment as effectually as if Hghtning had struck him. Slowly the naked 
horror of it stirred him into action, and he rose unsteadily to his feet. 
He took one step towards the door, paused, and turned. "As Heaven 
is my judge I didn't know you were interested in Leesome," he said, 


"And, knowing, would you have cared? It is doubtful " said Miss 
Dale, bitterly. 

"You wrong me; indeed you do," cried Growler. "If I'd known 
I'd have cut my right hand off rather than have done what I have. But 
every penny of it will be returned at once. See, I shall give you my 
check for it now." He drew out his check-book as he spoke, but she 
stopped him imperiously. 

"I shan't take it, sir," she said. "My little fortune is gone, and 
there's an end to it. I suppose I shall manage to live without it, But 
my heart is sore for my friends, the Leesomes, fallen from comfort to 
penury at one dire stroke! Go!" 

Mr. Growler staggered rather than walked from the room, looking 
ten years older in one short minute; then Miss Dale collapsed into a chair 
and wept. If she was sorry for the Leesomes, she was, strangelyjenough 
almost more sorry for Growler. No sooner had he gone than her gentle 
heart began upbraiding her for her harshness. Perhaps he had never 
thought of the harm he was doing. Besides, he loved her, and no 
woman is insensible to a compliment of that sort. 

Mr. Growler's love for his gentle landlady, if deep, had hitherto 
been a sort of easy-going feeling that she was there for the taking the 
moment it occurred to him to claim her. Now that she was irrevocably 
lost to him — through what a grotesquely terrible cause — she appeared 
infinitely more desirable than ever. He was shaken, humbled to the 
dust, and after half an hovir's torturing thought he realized how im- 
possible it was that he could live longer under that roof. 

He sat down and wrote a short letter to Arthur Leesome, in which 
he expressed his regret that their respective firms had ever become em- 
broiled through him, how he had discovered he was in the wrong, and 
would Mr. Leesome make an estimate of the losses, jotting the amount 
on the enclosed blank check? "Would he care to undertake the manage- 
ment of Growler's on his own terms, as he (Growler) had finally resolved 
to have done with it, and knew no one more capable, etc. ? 

Then he wrote to Miss Dale, and after that letter was finished he 
laid it prominently on the table, took the other in his pocket, and slipped 
out noiselessly. He had a vague idea of going to some hotel for the 


night, leaving his goods behind until the morrow, but, indeed, these 
details were of little account in his then frame of mind. He made for 
the pillar-box at the crossing, and with a great sigh of relief he dropped 
his message of contrition in, and stepped back directly into the path of 
an approaching hansom. There was a shout, a crash; and Mr. Growler 
ell right in front of the plunging horse. 

In the morning Miss Dale sat weeping softly, with Mr. Growler's 
farewell note on her lap. " He never knew the harm he was doing," she 
murmured. "Oh, I think — I'm sure he is truly repentant and — and — he 
loves me. I ought not to have sent him away." 

Just then the door opened and Mary Ann ushered in a fine, alert- 
looking man. He was Arthur Leesome. Miss Dale forgot her grief in a 
rush of amazement. Last night she had seen him crushed to the earth; 
now he was buoyant with cheerful expectancy. 

"Where is Mr. Growler?" he asked, excitedly. "Where is he, 
Agatha? I am like to go mad with joy. "By Heaven! he has done me 
a noble turn." 

Miss Dale hurriedly mopped her eyes. "He has gone, Arthur," 
she said, faintly. "But what " 

"Gone? How — why — where?" 

Miss Dale explained in a few halting sentences, and Leesome's 
eyes grew wide as he listened; but ere she finished the maid burst im- 
petuously in upon them. 

"Oh, miss, a telegram for you! I m sure it's from him." 

Miss Dale's fingers trembled as she opened the envelope and spread 
out the enclosure; then she screamed loudly and fell back in a dead 

A ghastly object looked Mr. Growler as he reclined on a bed in the 
ward of the hospital to which he had been conveyed after his accident. 
His head was bandaged, one arm was in splints, his face pinched with 
pain. Miss Dale knelt beside the bed holding his hand, and Arthur 
Leesome stood by looking on the pair of them with a curious lump in his 
throat. Hate of the man had gone; sorrow and compassion were in 
his heart now. 

"The doctors say I won't live, and I think it's as well," said the 
injured man, slowly. 

"No, no," sobbed Miss Dale. 

" Yes, it's better so. My life has been utterly selfish and despicable, 
as I know now; but I'm not without hope that you will say that you 
forgive me for what I've " 

"Oh, Mr. Growler, indeed, indeed I do!" 

"Thank you, Agatha — you will allow me to call you that this once 
— and now I'm content. I've seen my lawyer, and you will find when 
I'm — gone that I've done all I could to make reparation. But, oh. 
Heaven! if only I had lived, and you had loved me!" 


"Oh, Mr. Growler, I do — love you," she whispered, burying her 
face in the coverlet. 

It was the merest whisper, but he heard, and a wonderful light came 
nto his face. "You do — you do! Say it again, my dear." 

She looked up and tried to speak, but he read her answer in her 
eyes. Then he gave a pitiful, forced laugh. 

"Then I shall make a fight of it," he said, grimly, "and by Heaven's 
help will live." 

A stubborn fight it proved, but he won in the end. 

Might Do. 

Employer. — "Yes. I advertised for a strong boy. Do you 
think you will suit?" 

Applicant. — "Well, I have just finished thrashing nineteen 
applicants out in the passage." 

— The Employer. 


Magistrate (sternly). — "Didn't I tell you the last time you 
were here I never wanted you to come before me again?" 

Prisoner. — "Yes, sir; but I couldn't make the policeman be- 
lieve it." 

— The Copper. 

Fashions' Fancies 

At this time of the year one looks for two things in the shops — 
bargain sales of winter coats, wraps, and gowns, and indications of 
what will be worn in the spring and summer fabrics. Immediately after 
Christmas the shop windows blossom forth with muslins and light silks 
and for those who can afford to purchase ahead, there are exclusive 
patterns that never appear later in the year. There is an advantage 
in exclusiveness not to be denied. The simplest gown that is unmis- 
takably in this class has a distinction and a cachet of its own. Thus 
it is worth while to buy these January and February airy offerings. 
The new dimities, organdies, and batistes are exclusively pretty in 
color and design. The colors are, generally speaking, bright. A lovely 
clear green, a rose pink, and a delicate mauve are seen in stripes and 
figures. The designs of some of the batistes are not unlike those of 
old fashioned linen lawns. Organdies seem to run to large flowers 
in all-over effects, and the dimities to Dresden patterns. An attractive 
dimity has a clear white ground, over which a double stripe of bright 
green is traced. The three-inch space between the stripes is filled 
with tiny dots of black, rather far apart. A cheerful buff dimity has 
small polka dots of black over its surface. A beautiful organdie has a 
black ground with a smashing design of huge roses and leaves in pastel 
tones of pink, red, and green. The new white materials shown this 
week have been heavy canvases and madrases for shirt waists and shirt- 
whist suits. No linens have been displayed so far but their popularity 
is taken for granted. Silks of soft construction, such as peau de soie, 
peau de cygne, shantungs, natural and dyed, and soft finish taflfetas 
will undoubtedly rule. These silks will be made up into shirt- waist 
suits for spring wear, to the exclusion, it is prophesied, of figured foulards. 
However, foulards are so pretty and becoming that it is not probable 
that they will be shelved altogether. They have been worn so long 
that they have come to have a sort of commonplaceness, and that al- 
ways heralds a change of some kind. More attractive to the majority 
of shoppers than advance spring materials are the many genuine bar- 
gains to be had in all the good stores. It is understood that the choice 
of gowns, hats, and other made-up articles has long been disposed of. 
What remains are duplicates, stock styles, and models, and those that 
for one reason or another, did not exactly please. Still, there are many 
beautiful things yet unsold, and in some of the small, exclusive chops' 
where nothing is carried beyond the close of the busy season, one may 
find rare bargains. This is especially true of hats. For five or ten dol- 
lars almost any hat in a shop may be acquired. The material is often 


worth more money than that. Gowns and coats are usually cut in 
price about one-third. It is worth noting that the greatest bargains 
are offered in long and three-quarter coats. The indications are that 
these are not good purchases, because they will not be worn next year. 
The popularity of the short coat showed itself pretty plainly during the 
past three months, and all the fashion authorities predict its complete 
sway for the coming year. It is almost certain that the long, tight-fitting 
coat will be entirely pass6 in another six months. 

One can hardly go wrong in taking advantage of any sale of silk 
waists. The greatest latitude is allowed in these garments, and, besides 
they are worn and put aside before the fashions have a chance to change, 
which is not apt to be the case with a handsome coat or wrap. A 
charming waist offered for $15 is made of strips of wide sash ribbon in a 
deep pink and black flower design, combined with taffeta. The waist 
is finely tucked at the top, and the strips of taffeta which divide the 
ribbon are tucked full length. There is a high tucked stock of the 
flowered ribbon, and a black belt with a jewelled buckle. A white 
louisine waist is shirred very full on a round yoke of ecru lace in a square 
design. The lace yoke is really only seen in the front. Falling over 
it is a round collar that meets the sides of the yoke in front, and is 
attached by bows of very narrow black velvet, with long, knotted ends 
A bit of black velvet is twisted in the lace of the stock. The collar is 
quite deep, and wide enough to hang over the shoulders and upper 
sleeves easily. Deep, shaped ruffles of lace finishes the sleeves of the 
blouse, and a high-fitted belt of the louisine confines it at the waist line. 
Plain waists of dyed lace are well to buy to wear with skirts of a matching 
color. They are good under coats and boleros, and are dressy enough 
for the theatre. Sometimes they are made more attractive by taffeta 
bands stitched on in designs. One such in a rich shade of brown lace 
has a double band of taffeta stitched on to simulate a shallow, heart- 
shaped yoke. Another double row of the banding is attached in a 
circular design over the long shoulders, and another encircles the blouse 
just above the high girdle. Bands of taffeta alternating with lace' 
form the collar and the high, shaped cuffs. A pretty fashion this winter 
is that of wearing ivory white and pastel shades of panne and chiffon 
velvet blouses with cloth skirts of the same shade. These are elaborate 
toilettes, appropriate only for afternoon functions, restaurant dinners, 
etc. A pale, gray-green frock of this description has a long skirt, finished 
with three wide bias folds, simulation tucks, each headed by a narrow 
gimp. The velvet blouse, which matches the skirt perfectly, is sprin- 
kled with little medalUons of white lace, each with a crystal bead in the 
centre. A lace shoulder cape is Hned with chiffon and trimmed with 
chiffon of the same shade in narrow bias folds. The sleeve^ are big, and 
indescribable except in a general way. They open at the back and are 
furnished with billowy draperies of lace and chiffon. Very dressy lace 
and crepe waists are trimmed with the narrowest bands of fine fur, such 
as sable, ermine and, chinchilla. They are worn with cloth skirts of a 


matching shade. One such in palest yellow attracted attention. The 
material of the waist was a fairy-like fabric approaching crepe de Chine, 
but was much more lustrous. It had a collarless lace yoke. A narrow 
band of ermine outlined the yoke at the back and crossed the shoulders, 
being brought down the front of the blouse in a pointed design. The 
sleeves were puffed at the top with a flounce falUng below, trimmed with 
lace frills and bands of chiffon matching the crepe. The cloth skirt 
exactly matched the blouse in color. Sometimes white cloth skirts 
are worn instead of the matching shade, but the effect is not quite as 
good. These narrow fur bands are very good on ball gowns of net and 
even tulle, although the combination sounds impossible. Spangled 
gowns made up in triple skirts, each one with a narrow fur edge, are 
charming. The effect is light, rather than heavy, as one might imagine. 
The merest touch of fur on the bodice suffices. Returning to afternoon 
gowns, the use of dyed lace was beautifully illustrated in a cloth gown 
of rich red, combined with coarse lace in a Bruges imitation. The 
skirt was rather long — that is, it trained slightly in the back, and was 
long in the front and on the sides. There was a hip yoke of the died 
lace, and this was extended in the front to form a narrow panel to the 
hem of the gown. A Soutache braid outlined the skirt where it attached 
to the lace yoke in large, square scallops. The same soutache in a scal- 
lop design trimmed the skirt about the knees. A short bolero trimmed 
with the braid was worn over the blouse of the dyed lace, very simply 
made. The sleeves of the bolero were slashed in the back to show the 
full lace sleeves of the blouse. Brass bullet buttons were used on the 
bolero and sleeves. A lovely home gown of blue cashmere is combined 
with blue lace in something the same manner. The skirt has a hip 
yoke, but of the cloth this time. Soutache braid is applied in parallel 
rows in a simple loop design outlining the hip yoke and extending down 
the front on either side of the lace panel which forms the front gore. 
The waist is gathered full on a yoke which is lace in front, the shoulders 
and back being concealed by a cape collar trimmed with the braid. 
The lace yoke has a pointed front, from the centre of which the braid 
design forms loops down the front of the waist. The centre of each loop 
is filled in with the lace, thus connecting the lace of the skirt and waist. 
There is a high girdle of blue heavy satin. 

'Dorothy's First appearance. 

Tired and brain weary, Mark Sterling opened the hall door and 
passed quietly up the gloomy staircase. He wondered at the darkness 
but supposed that his worthy landlady, indulging in a customary after- 
noon gossip with her next-door neighbor, must have forgotten to light 
the gas. 

The December day had drawn to its brief close, and the air, even 
here in the warm house, was cold and damp. He opened the door of his 
sitting-room and passed in. There was a bright fire burning, and the 
dancing flames played fitfully upon the walls. 

It was something more than the typical lodging-house room. Books 
with the air of companionship they seem always to possess lay scattered 
about. An open desk, with an untidy sheaf of papers and any number 
of pens, gave a hint at the occupation of its owner. 

Mark took a step or two towards the fire and then stopped short 
at something he saw there. Seated in his own particular arm-chair — a 
deep, capacious affair, in which he had often sat to struggle with the 
details of a complicated plot, for Sterling was a writer — was a child. 

As he drew nearer he could tell by her gentle breathing that she 
was fast asleep. The dark lashes of her closed eyelids rested peacefully 
upon her cheeks. A half smile parted the rosy lips and showed the gleam 
of pearl-like teeth between. One hand was gloveless and rested on the 
arm of the chair, and a tangle of warm, brown hair framed the sweet 
oval face, too pale for robust health, yet far from being sickly. Alto- 
gether there was something so appealling and helpless in her attitude 
that Sterling, gazing at her, felt a queer little throb of pain and pity. 

As he watched her for a moment in silence it seemed to him as if 
he were gazing on some dimly-remembered picture which the mists of 
vanished years had half obscured. She reminded him of some child he 
must have known when he himself was no more than a child. It seemed 
cruel to awaken her, and yet what was he to do? He must find out who 
she was, how she came there, and what she wanted. 

He coughed gently once or twice, and in a m.oment or two the child 
opened wondering , sleepy eyes, that gazed round the room with surprise 
but nothing of fear in them. Then she seemed, after a moment's doubt, 
to remember and understand, and sliding off the chair she stood before 

He had not been able to guess her age exactly, but now he saw 
that she was older than he had at first thought — eight years at the least. 


"I must have fallen asleep," she said, looking up into his face with 
wide-open, confident eyes. "It was very silly of me, but the fire was 
so warm, and I was tired." 

"It does not matter, little one," said the writer, in his kindly way, 
as he lit the gas. "And now; my dear," he added, "will you tell me 
what I can do for yon.?" 

She did not for a moment reply. She looked suddenly shy and 
nervous, and the sweet, sensitive color flooded her pale face. 

"I went to the theatre first," she said, "but they told me you had 
gone home, and they gave me your address. The landlady let me come 
up and said I might wait, as you would not be long." 

Sterling looked puzzled for a moment, then a. light broke upon him, 
and he could have taken the child up and hugged Jher. She^must have 
seen his advertisement for a little girl to play a part in his Christmas 
piece. What a fortunate chance! Here she was before him, the very 
child of his dreams, so far as appearance was concerned. 

He had been almost in despair. He had seen and tried the ability 
of some dozens of children, but not one of them, either in looks or in any 
other respect, had fulfilled his wants. But this child — if only she could 

When he had first commenced to write his play he had not intended 
to make the part of the child so prominent, but as he had proceeded the 
whole play had weaved itself, almost against his will, round the child, 
who formed the pivot of the plot. 

"So you have come in answer' to my advertisement?" he said, sit- 
ting down on the arm of the chair. "Come nearer, little girl, and let 
me look at you." 

She came forward now, with no longer any shyness in her face or 

" And do you think you could play a part in a piece upon the stage?" 
he asked. 

The little girl put up her hands with an excited movement. 

"I am sure I could, sir. My mother has taught me to act ever so 
many charades and things like that, and I have had to read to her a lot, 
because she has not been very well lately, and I have tried to amuse her." 

The child had a sweet, clear voice, and articulated every syllable in a 
way that delighted Sterling's sensitive ear for language. 

"And does your mother approve or your taking part in a play?" 

The child's eyes dropped and she lowered her head. 

"She does not know anything about it," she said. "She has been 
very ill for some months, and " 

Suddenly the child broke down and a flood of tears came to her eyes. 
But before the other could do anything to comfort her she had regained 
her composure with more than childish self-control. 

"I am a very silly little girl, and I don't know what you will think 
of me," she said; but "it seems so wrong to keep anything from mother. 
But I did not want her to know anything about my coming to you un- 
less you engaged me, for she might have hoped that I should get it, 


and have been very disappointed if I had failed. You see, we are very 
poor, and ever since mother has been ill we have been poorer than ever. 
I heard her say the other day that it was hard to make both ends meet." 

Sterling could have smiled at the old-fashioned gravity of the child 
had he not realized the tragic side of it. He noticed that she looked 
scrupulously neat and clean and was carefixUy, though poorly, clad. 

"I must do something for her, even if we can't give her the part," 
he decided. And then he told the landlady, who at that moment 
entered to apologize for her temporary absence, to bring in an extra 
cup with the tea, and over that merry meal he obtained the child's 

It was a common enough one — an heroic woman, striving with all 
her strength to earn by needle-work sufficient to keep herself and her 
child from starvation. When at last he dismissed the child, he told her 
to come to the theatre the next morning at eleven o'clock' 

He sat back in his chair when she had gone, weaving dreams in 
silence and picturing many things that might have been but were not. 

He and Wilkinson, the manager who was running the theatre 
where his play was to be produced, tested the child's ability the follow- 
ing day, and little Dorothy vSmith came out of the ordeal with flying' 

"We wanted a child who possessed a soul," remarked Wilkinson 
"and we have found one. We could have taken our choice from any 
number of children who would have learned the lines perfectly and have 
followed our instructions. But this little girl is something better than a 

"You think she will do. then?" 

"Yes, I think so; though it would have been safer perhaps, to have 
given the part to Miss French." 

Sterling raised protesting hands. He had a distinct and unhappy 
impression of that frisky young actress. Conversant as he was with 
theatrical metamorphoses, he could not picture her made up to resenible 
the dear child, everybody's friend, which he had drawn with such loving 

The rehearsals progressed apace, now that the last part in this 
Christmas piece was filled, and Boxing Day, which was to see its pro- 
duction, drew near, 

Mrs. Smith had given her permission for her child to act, and she 
ent a grateful message to Mark Sterling and the manager. But shes 
was still very ill, the child said, and glad for that reason alone, perhaps, 
to let Dorothy accept the engagement, since if she proved successful it 
would tide them over an unfortunate period. 

Boxing night came and found Sterling in a perfect fever of excitement. 
The play went well from the very beginning. The theatre was crowded 

with a good-tempered holiday audience, who were ready with apprecia- 
tion and applause. 

Dorothy was a little nervous in her first scene, but before very long 
she gained confidence, and her sweet, childish voice fell upon a hushed 


kna silent theatre, and her acting was so charming, so natural and 
unforced, that her success was quickly assured. 

It was a sympathetic and pretty part she had to play — that of a child 
who brings together two people who have been parted by want of confi- 
dence on one side and pride and misunderstanding on the other. Some- 
thing of the author's own li£e-story had crept into the play, and he had 
written the scenes in which the child took part with genuine power and 
pathos, as the frequent and hearty applause of the audience testified. 

There was one long, last scene which would test the youthful actress's 
powers to the full, and just as it had started a message was brought to 
Sterling, who was standing by the wings. Someone wished to see 
Dorothy at the stage door. Her mother had had a relapse and was 
taken seriously ill. She had better come at once. 

For a moment Sterling was at a loss. The child would not be off 
the stage for twenty minutes. He thought of the fate of his play, of 
the people who had invested their money in it. He could not have the 
curtain rung down. Wha,t should he do? 

He quickly decided. Sending a message to Wilkinson he dashed 
into a hansom, and told the man to drive his hardest to Dudley vStreet, 
Bloomsbury, where Mrs. Smith lived. 

He did not quite know his object in going. But it had occurred to 
him that, as the child could not at once obey that summons, it was his 
duty to come forward in her place and explain how impossible it had 
been to deliver that message. 

In the hall he met the doctor, who had just come downstairs. 
"I'm glad you've not brought the child," he said, in answer to 
Sterling's inquiries. "These silly women imagined that my patient was 
going to die. It was nothing but a prolonged fainting fit, the outcome 
of weakness. She is better now, and has been on the mend for some days . 

vSterling had never felt such relief in his life. 
"Could I see her?" he asked. 
The doctor looked at him. 
" You will not excite her ? " 
"I promise not to." 
"Then you may go up," he said. 

Sterling quickly ascended the stairs, and entering the poorly furn- 
ished room went across to the invalid, who lay back on the white pillows 
with closed eyes. They opened suddenly and fell on Sterling, as he 
stood there, half afraid to approach. They opened, and then a look of 
recognition, of wonder, of love, came to them. 

" Dennis," she said, in a voice that thrilled with joy, faint though it 
was, "is that you, or am I still dreaming?" 

Sterling himself brushed his hand across his forehead as one in 'b 
maze. Then, recovering himself, he made a sign to the sleepy attendant 
to leave the room, and when she had gone he came up to the invalid's 

"Marion," he said, gently, "it is no dream. It is I, your husband." 


"I did not think that we should ever meet again," she said, in a 
fluttering whisper. 

"Are you sorry?" he asked. 

"Sorry?" she echoed. "Ah, you don't know the number of times 
I have prayed for this." 

"And I have yearned for you, my darling, as well." 
• "Then why did you leave me?" 

"I was mad, sweetheart — mad with outraged pride and wounded 
self-esteem. I overheard some foolish words spoken by two careless 
friends. They said it was common talk that I had married you because 
your father was a rich man and you his only child and heiress. You 
know, dear one, that there was no truth in that? I married you because 
I loved you. But I realized then for the first time what opinion others 
might hold of me. I was an idler in those days, with nothing at all of 
my own after I had extravagantly spent all that I possessed. I was 
living on the income your father generously allowed us. I had been 
dreaming a fool's dream; those malicious words stung me awake. 

"I took an oath to myself that I would leave you and never seek 
you again until I could support ybu as my wife and in a manner you 
had always been accustomed to. I saw how wrong it was, how almost 
wicked of me, to have married you when I had nothing but my love to 
offer. I would go away, I told myself — would go to England and remain 
there until I had won some prize to bring back and offer you. 

"And through all these years I have been faithful to my vow. I 
had not thought that fortune wotild be so long in smiling upon me, or I 
might not have had patience. Bvit my weary penance will end to-night 
if my play is a success." 

"Your play? Then you must be Mark vSterling?" 

" That is my pen name. Denis Clavering is not known in England.' 

"And you never guessed, when you saw Dorothy " 

He started to his feet with a cry. 

"Guessed what?" 

"That she was your child — our child." 

"Heavens! Poor, ill-clad, and you " he paused and looked 

round the shabby room. " What does it mean? Your father was a rich 
man — I left you in his care. Surely he did not fail you?" 

"Not willingly. Btit his business declined, affairs went wrong alto- 
gether, and when he died three years ago he died a poor man. I came 
to England after his death, changed my name to that of Smith — I could 
not bear to be known by your name since you had deserted me — and 
have remained in London ever since." 

Bending down by the side of his wife's bed, Sterling covered his face 
with his hands. He was sunk in an abyss of self-contempt. He realized 
now that his desertion of his wife had been beyond defence, beyond for- 
giveness. And he had thought it the most honourable — the only thing 
to do. 

They had been married no more than a few months, he argued; he 
would punish himself by letting her go back to her father's care until he 


had retrieved his extravagances and had won some position that should 
enable him to come back and claim her. It had seemed almost heroic 
at the time, but he saw now that it had been utterly contemptible in 

He rose to his feet and looked down at the sweet, pale face, made 
lovelier in his eyes by years of sorrow. 

"There are some wrongs that one would hardly dare to ask forgive- 
ness for," he said, slowly. 

She raised her eyes to his and gazed at him tenderly. 

"There are none between you and me that I could not forgive," 
she said. "Let us face the futvire once more hand in hand, if you wish 
it so." 

"Then you can forgive me?" 

" A woman can forgive anything in the man she loves," she answered, 

At that moment a little figure botmded into the room, and giving 
one astonished glance at the visitor ran over to the bedside. 

"Dearest mamma," she said, placing her arms round her mother's 
neck, "there never was such a beautiful night. Oh, I do wish you had 
been there. You would have enjoyed it. There were crowds and 
crowds of people, all of them shouting and clapping, and Mr. Wilkinson 
took me on before the curtain, and there was more shouting and clapping. 
And, dearest mamma, are you better?" 

The invalid smiled an affirmative. Suddenly .Sterling, remembered 
the doctor's caution about disturbing his patient. 

"We must not excite mamma," he said to the child. And then he 
added, in a lower tone, to her mother, "Tell her; I cannot." 

"Dorothy," said the woman, in her tender voice, "you remember 
that I have often spoke of your father — that stay-away father who lives 
such a long way off that he can never come to see us, though we have 
both longed for him so often? He. has not been so far away as we sup- 
posed, dear. I did not know until to-night, but this kind friend of yours 
here, Mr. Sterling, is your father." 

The child turned wondering eyes on him. There was only a ques- 
tion in them at first, and then a delightful and loving smile flashed into 
them, and she held out her hands eagerly. 
" I'm so glad," she said. 

Sterling bent down and drew the child to him with loving, protecting 
arms. Watching those two, the woman smiled. The past was for- 
gotten; there was nothing to remember but the present and the future. 

History of the Columbia Polytechnic Institute 
of Wa-shington, D. C. 

More than five years ago the writer being 
at that time Secretary of the State Board of Education for the Blind of 
Connecticut and President of the Connecticut Institution for the Blind, at 
Hartford Connecticut, came to this city, as chairman of a committee ap- 
opinted by the International Convention of Educators of the Blind, to 
secure desired legislation from Congress. 

While here, he became acquainted with the condition of the blind 
of the District of Columbia. At that time there were to be seen upon the 
streets of Washington, blind persons from thirty to forty in number ap- 
pealing in various ways to the sympathy of the public for alms. 

He learned also that although Congress for more than forty years 
had maintained an Institution for the Deaf in this city, which novv repre- 
sents an investment of over half a million dollars and receives an annual 
appropriation varying from sixty to seventy thousand dollars, it was con- 
tent to allow the adult blind of the District to beg upon the streets, 
thus confirming the public in its erroneous opinion that blindness was a 
condition of hopeless dependence and an excuse for mendicancy. 

The writer though blind for more than twenty-five years had dur- 
ing that time ascertained to his satisfaction that the hopeless condition 
of the adult blind was due more to their ignorance and the ignorance of 
the public, than to their blindness, and for ten years prvevious he had been 
actively engaged in his native state demonstrating that fact. 

He very naturally was impelled to attempt to bring about a different 
state of things in the National Capitol. Calling upon the Commissioners 
he enlisted their sympathy and co-operation. Senators Hawley and 
MacMillan seconded his efforts. At his own private expense an exhibi- 
tion workshop was established in the city, and blind people were brought 
here temporarily from Hartford to show what could be accomplished. His 
hope was not to establish a home for indigent blind, who would be cared 
for whether thej^ worked or not, but to follow the example set by the Insti- 
tution in Glasgow Scotland, which provided employment for the adult 
blind, at wages which enabled them to maintain themselves in their own 

A bill was introduced by Senator Hawley which appropriated five 
thousand dollars, with which to make a showing. Before the bill was 
put upon its passage however, the writer was summoned from Hartford by 


telegram, to combat an amendment which provided that the money appro- 
priated should be expended for the support of the indigent blind of the 
District. This he did successfully. 

Followinsg the advice of Mr. McFarland a corporation was 
organized, with such men as Senator Hawley, Mr. Justice Brewer, Bishop 
Satterlee, the then Rector, but now Bishop Mackay-Smith, and other 
equally well known Washingtonians as incorporators. 

When Congress again assembled, the matter was once more taken up 
by Senators Hawley and MacMillan and a bill was passed making the 
appropriation payable directl}'' to our corporation. Notwithstanding the 
bill provided without solicitation on the part of the writer and in fact 
without his knowledge, that he should be reimbursed. 

The writer refused to take any part of the $5,000 appropriated, know- 
ing that all the money was needed to successully launch the undertaking. 
Resigning his position as President of the Institution in Hartford after 
being unanimously re-elected for a third term of four years, he has devo- 
ted his entire time and energj^ without compensation, for the past three 
years in the hope that the Washington Institution would eventually be 
placed upon a firm foundation, and his advancements from his savings 
since he became blind, to this Institution, now exceed $5,000. 

A committee was appointed consisting of Rev. Dr. Couden, Senator 
Hawley and the Hon. Sidney D. Perham to locate the institution, and the 
property, 1808 H St. N. W. was purchased for this purpose, where the 
instituion has been maintained and is now in active opeation. 

Soon after the establishment of the Institution Congress created a Dis- 
tict Board of Charities, and the Secretary of this Borkd notified us that 
our Institution was expected to report to him. He visited us and was 
favorably impressed with our work. We appeared before the members 
of the Board, and they recommended a further appropriation to our Insti- 
ttution, its Secretary, Mr. Wilson, himself preparing the clause to be an- 
nexed to the District Bill. 

When the bill passed, the clause prepared by Mr. Wilson was not in- 
cluded. Inquiry disclosed the fact that it had disappeared from the files 
of the clerk of the committee having the bill in charge. 

The death of Senator MacMillan, and the continued illness of Senator 
Hawley, has deprived us of their valuable assistance. 

In the meantime our institution has struggled on, developing an entire- 
ly new industry for the Blind, which has attracted the attention of the 
Commissioners from the States of New York, Michigan and Massachu- 
setts, appointed to inquire into the best means of furnishing self-sustain- 
ing employment for the Blind. These Commissioners have sent members 
of their commissions to inspect our work. 

Our blind people are now engaged in typesetting by machinery, feed- 
ing power presses, folding and binding pamphlets and newspapers. 
Besides the publication of a monthly magazine, in the interest of our 
work and doing all kinds of job printing, we are successfully printing, fold- 
ing and binding a twenty-four page weekly paper, having a circulation 
of four thousand. F. E. CLEAVELAND. Secretary. 




The first institution for the instruc- 
tion of the blind established in the 
United States was the Perkins Insti- 
tute in Boston, Mass. This institu- 
tion was incorporated March 2, 1829. 
Dr. Samuel G. Howe, the noted philan- 
thropist, became its director in August. 
1831. After eighteen years of experi- 
ence at the head of this Institution in 
the report of the Institution published 
in 1849, we find Dr. Howe making use 
of the following language: 

"It is found by experience that often 
sufferers present themselves and ask 
earnestly for help and solace, and 
work, for whose cases the institution 
was not originally intended, but who 
are totally unprovided for elsewhere. 
and whose appeal is so touching as to 
be irresistible; we mean those who 
are suddenly struck blind in early 
manhood, by accident or bv disease. 

It is not a rare occurrence that a 
young, healthy and bright-eyed man 
is in an instant blinded for life. The 
condition of such persons is more de- 
plorable than that of those born blind, 
who know not what darkness is, be- 
cause they never knew what light is. 
But to the man who has lived in an 
atmosphere of light, whose existence 
has been, as it were, enlarged and 
multiplied by a vast range of visible 
objects which the sense of sight seems 
to give him for his own, to incorporate, 
as it were with his very being, until 
light and life become one and the 
same, — to him there is something real, 
sensible and terrible in the darkness 
which suddenly covers him like a pall 
when his eyes are blasted. He is at 
first like one buried alive. All his 
thoughts, all his efforts, all his pray- 
ers are for deliverance from this thick 
gloom — for some means of struggling 
out of it and back into light again. He 
knew the world mainly by its visible 
beauties, his wife by her loving looks. 

his children by their rosy cheeks, his 
friends by their smiling faces; but 
these and all other things are to him 
suddenly eclipsed, and friends, child- 
ren, wife, the world, are all lost, as 
it seems, forever. Hope, that cannot 
be killed outright, at first whispers that 
by some miraculous recovery of sight, 
all these lost treasures may yet be re- 
stored to him; and though the word 
of promise is broken to the ear, he 
fine's it is kept to the hope, that these 
things are really restored to him, and 
that his intellectual and social rela- 
tions with the world and with the ob- 
jects of his affections may be main- 
tained in all their intimacy and 
strength, in spite of blindness. As 
the needle points to the pole, by night 
as well as by day, so his love for rela- 
tives and friends still draws him to 
them, through the darkness that hides 
them from his sight. 
The interest and the sympathy oi others 
■o warmly excited at first by his ter- 
rible misfortune, gradually grow less, 
and if he has no parents to support 
him, he begins to be considered a bur- 
den. He has then before him the 
dreary prospect of a life of depend- 
ence upon relatives and friends, to be 
dragged on until they are weary of 
well-doing, or are dead; and beyond 
that lies the cheerless scene of an old 
age and a death-bed in the alms-house. 
Besides this, the rust of idleness soon 
begins to eat into his soul. He finds 
that it is not life merely to be alive 
and unemployed, and begin to pine for 
an ccrupation as much as he ever 
pined for recovery of his sight. He is 
not yoiing enough to enter a school for 
the blind, and go through a course of 
study with the boys, but he is not too 
old to learn a trade and earn his own 

"It is for the relief of such cases as 
the one thus described that further 
piovision is necessary." 

Had Dr. Howe lived to see his sug- 
gestions carried out, who can tell 
vv^hat changes might have taken place 
to better the condition of the adult 
blind during the past fifty years. 



American Association, to 
promote the instruction and 
employment of the blind. 

This Association which is the out- 
growth of an effort of the progressive 
and successful blind, to rescue theii 
less fortunate fellows from a conditior 
of dependence and neglect, has benn 
instrumental in arrousingthe attention 
of the public to the condition of this 
class of blind peeple. 

Husbands and fathers made helpless 
by blindness, through accident, who 
were compelled to see their families 
broken up; their children bound out to 
strangers, and they themselves left to 
a wretched existence in a poorhouse, 
have been taken by our Association, 
taught a useful trade and assisted to a 
start in business by the means of which 
they have been able to re-establish the 
home circle, and thereafter maintain 
themselves and their families. 

Young blind women, who, by the 
death of parents and friends have been 
left alone in the world and even gradu- 
ates of institutions, having no parents 
and friends to receive them, whose fate 
It was to go from a comfortable home 
of refinement and culture to becom*? 
the inmates of almshouses, there to 
waste their lives in idleness, or meet 
even a worse fate have been taken 
charge of by our Association; furnished 
useful employment and are now main- 
taining themselves in a comfortable 
Christian home. 

With'a knowledge that this work is 
only in its infancy and that there are 
thousands of cases throughout our 
country in just as great need as any 
we have discovered, we feel sure that 
the heart of every humane person must 
respond to this appeal 

R't. Rev. hp:nry Y. SATTERLEE. 

Experienced Canvassers for this 
J/Iagazine in which this article appears 

are wanted in every part of the country 
to aid in the work of the association, 
and a reasonable compensation will 
be allowed for their services. 

Address all communications to 1808 
H Stseet, N. W., Washington, D. C. 


I need not tell you that I am very 
glad, indeed, that you are taking up 
the cause of the blind people in the 
city of Washington. I know of no one 
more capable of doing this than your- 
self, and if you are as successful in 
Washington as you have been in oth- 
er cities, w^e will all have reason to 
be grateful. 


Bishop of Wasnington. 

My examination of the facts pre- 
sented by Mr. Cleaveland convince me 
that his work, carried out on the 
line of his ideas, deserves the approv- 
al and the support of every Christian 
and of ev^ry lover of humanitj'. 


I heartily commend this good work, 
and beg for it the contributions of 
my people. ' 

Rector of St. John's Church. 

It gives me great pleasiire to add 
my most hearty indorsement and 
commendation of this work on behalf 
of the blind. Mr. Cleaveland is 
worthy of all confidence and en- 
couragement in this philanthropic 
mission. F. M. BRISTOL, 

Pastor Metropolitan M. E. ChurcJ^r 

The Symplex Type Setting Machine— successfully operated by the 
blind of th? Columbia Polytechnic Institute, Washington, D. C. 

Juvenile Strategy. 


James Henderson. <'""^ middle-aged bachelor. 
Joseph Murray. A retired military officer, 

Richard Murray. His youthful son. 

William Black. Richard's chum. 

Joan Black.' William's unmarried sister. 

Jemima Sinclair. A middle-aged spinster. 

Scene i. — Somerville, a small town in the North of England 

Joan's house. Richard visiting his .friend William. Time: 
A Saturday afternoon. 

Rich. M.: Hurry up, Bill, or we'll not be in time for the kick- 
off. What are you doing? 

Will. B.: Addressing some blessed circulars on behoof of 
"The Indignant and Decoyed Old Gentlewomen's Fund." Jo's 
secretary of the local branch, but I've got to do the work. Like 
women! Wouldn't have a moment's peace if I'd any more sisters. 
Lend a hand, and we'll get to the foot-ball match in time. . . Why 
don't you sit down instead of wriggling about and bending that 
way? You'll write easier sitting. 

Rich. M.: Rather not. Dad caught me smoking a cigarette 
yesterday, and it doesn't hurt so much to stand. 

Will. B.: Tell you what, Dicky; there's not a more down- 
trodden race than boys. Here's me and you — ten past — and 
we get welted as if we were kids. Jo boxed my ears this morning 
'cause I said I hadn't time to spare for her blooming Old Gentle- 
women. Jo's age's older'n me — in the sheer and mellow leaves, 
near forty — but it's no advantage for me to be an orphan. Get 
knocked about all the time. 

Rich. M.: Same here. Only my dad's stronger'n your sister. 
And there's worse coming. Don't remember my own mother, 


she's dead so long ago; but my dad, the Major, said it was high 
time I'd another mater to keep me in order. 

Will. B.: That's his mean way of telHng you he's going to 
get married again. Putting the blame on you, too. . . . How 
many circulars have you done? Seven. My lot's thirty-eight. 

Rich. M.: That comes to forty-three. 

Will. B.: You may be a little viper, as Jo called you once, 
but you ain't much of an adder. It comes to forty-nine. Put 
out your tongue, so as I can wet the stamps. Jo says there's 
always mickrobbers on 'em. . . . Tell you what, Dicky, I think 
my sister means to get spliced too. I've heard as much, and 
don't want no blooming brother-in-law to help to whack me. 

Rich. M.: Who's she after? 

Will. B.: Don't talk rot. Men go after the other sects. 
{Impressively:) But I've been creditably informed that that old 
josser, Henderson, retired grocer up the hill, is the man to keep a 
eye on. Old fool! Near forty-five. Who's to be your governor's 

Rich. M.: Can't say for certain. Think he's sweet on that 
Miss Sinclair Jo knows. As old as your sister she'll be. 

Will. B.: Yes. Got a heavy hand,' too. It's a blue look- 
out, Dicky, and something'll need to be done. . . I've got an 
idea. See this letter. It's one Jo got this morning from Jemima 
Sinclair. Begins "My Dear Joey " — your dad's first name. We'll 
put it in another envelope and address it to the Major. It'll 
give him fits. See this other letter. It's Jo's reply to Jem Sin- 
clair. I was to address it. Begins "My Dear Jimmy" — old 
Henderson's first name. We'll send it on to him. He'll get fits, 
too. You bet there'll be no marriages after this. 

Rich. M.: Say, Bill, isn't it a bit off-side to do this? 

Will. B. : P'r'aps, but we've our own skins to look after. . . . 
Now, take half of this blooming correspondence, and we'll post 
'em while going to the field. 

Scene 2. — Murray's house. Time: Evening of same day. 
Jos. M. {to himself, jiiriously, after perusing letter): This is 
insufferable. Gad! I don't know what women are coming to. 
Their emancipation shrieks and eternal howling for rights were 
bad enough, but this is beyond the limit of endurance. The intol- 


erable cheek! The insolent famiHarity! The impHed affection] 
Gad! I'd Hke to knock some of these old women's heads to- 
gether. (Re-reading letter.) "My Dear Joey, — I quite expected 
you would join us last night. As you know, the Somervale Sew- 
ing Society (of which I am secretary) meets every Thursday even- 
ing in the Public School (Classroom X) at 7.30, and we have 
now been busily engaged for some weeks, our intention being to 
hold a sale of work shortly, the proceeds of which will be handed 
over to the local hospital. Should you find it inconvenient to 
bring your own knitting, or sewing, or fancy work, material will 
be available on the premises. My own knitting-wool has become 
rather distasteful to me — I don't care for the color somehow — 
so you might let me have some of yours. You may, of ^course, 
consider yourself too good for us, but do come ,Joey, dear, for 
my sake; you would be of such assistance. — Yours always, Jemima 
Sinclair." Joey! By Jove! I'd drumhead the man who dared 
to address me in that way. As if I were a clown or pantaloon 
instead of a soldier who has fought and bled for his country. Fought 
and bled? Yes. Can I ever forget that sham fight at the autumn 
manoeuvres when my horse bolted and sent we to grass, with the re- 
sult that my nose was not only put out of action for months, but 
was permanently disabled?' Bled? Bled! I should think it did. 
And the man who has wielded his sword on behalf of defenceless 
women is asked to join them and take his knitting! (Sardon- 
ically.) Perhaps fancy work would be more in my line. A sofa 
cushion or tea-cosy, or one of those senseless contrivances — tidies, 
I think, — that stick to a man's coat every time he rises from a 
a chair. (More calmly.) Should I take this as a joke and say I'll 
do some crazy work to be in keeping with the rest of the society? 
No; better to treat it with dignified contempt. But it has at 
least done one good thing. I was undecided as to whether Miss 
Black or Miss Sinclair would prove the more suitable mother for 
my boy. I have no doubt now. 

Scene 3. — Henderson's house. Time: Same evening. 

J AS. H. (reading letter, in bewildered state) : " My Dear Jimmy, — 
Been so busy lately that I have had no time to devote to your 
Society, but you may expect me on Thursday evening, first. 
I'll bring some sewing. Am really very much occupied, dear, 


with oile thing and another, so excuse me for neglecting you. 
Spent two or three hours yesterday helping to nurse the Jones 
children, who are down with measles; but I have managed to 
spare time for other work as well. D'oyleys are getting on nicely. 
I hope soon, dear, to have more leisure at my disposal, when you 
will see me oftener. Don't imagine for a moment I consider 
myself too good for you. — Ever yours, Joan Black. P.S. — 
Don't feel discouraged on account of your wool. It is a pretty, 
if rather uncommon, shade." {To himself.) Great Jupiter! 
What an eye-opener! What a revelation of the risks a single man 
runs when he indulges in a platonic friendship with a single woman ! 
Jimmy! Great Jupiter! A name that even my sainted mother 
never used! And she — the irrepressible Joan — is coming here 
on Thursday night to enjoy my society. My Society — with a 
big S — to show the value she puts upon it. Means to make an 
evening of it evidently, seeing she proposes to bring her sewing. 
Possibly I may be expected to pass an opinion on embroidered 
button-holes and herring-bone stitches. These prattling details, 
too, of what she has been doing imply a confidence between us 
that never existed. Most inconsiderate even to suggest coming, 
under the circumstances. The Jones family are suffering from 
■measles, and she may bring some of them with her — measles, I 
mean — but who on earth are the D'oyleys? Never heard of them, 
though I know the Joneses. Seems to be some Irish family re- 
covering from an illness, which may be infectious also, just as 
likely as not. There is, however, one grateful and comforting 
reflection to be derived from this extraordinary letter. The fair 
Joan does not consider herself too good for me — a simple ad- 
mission, which has a charm all its own. And the P.S.! How 
true it is that the sting of a woman's letter lies in the postscript! 
"Don't feel discouraged on account of your wool." Oh, Joan, 
Joan, how could you? To call my hair wool — what detestable 
slang! To refer so ironically to its color — what a gratuitous 
insult! To pretend to admire it — what unpardonable hypocrisy! 
Can I help my hair being red?' But this is weakness. Self-pre- 
servation is the first law of Nature. I am in a state of platonic 
friendship with other ladies, and who can tell what may happen 
after this? There is only one remedy — to put myself beyond the 


pale. Miss Sinclair is a lady I have long liked. She is not in her 
first youth: no more am I. She would make a good wife; I shall 
ask her to marry me. {Scathingly.) And when I do so you may 
rest perfectly assured, Miss Black, that I shall not feel discouraged 
on account of my wool. 

Scene 4. — Joan's" house. Time: A fortnight later. Afternoon. 
Joan B. {to herself): It has come at last. That letter I got 
from Major Murray this morning, saying he intended to call later 
in the day regarding a matter which might have an important 
bearing on his future, can only have one meaning. He intends to — 
well, I admire the Major immensely, and why should I not marry 
him if he wants me? It will be best for everyone. Willie is a 
source of anxiety to me at times, and every year will make him 
more difficult to manage. He needs a father's firm, controlling 
hand. The Major will not refuse to let him come with me. I 
have an ample income for both. . . . What, I wonder, has caused 
Mr. Henderson's strangely altered attitude to me? We were good 
friends — never more than friends — but now he purposely avoids 
me. Called at his house on Thursday evening last week when 
going to the sewing meeting. Meant to ask him to increase his 
subscription to the Old Gentlewomen's Fund. He can easily 
afford more than half a guinea. Servant was positively rude. 
Said her master had gone from home for a few days, although I 
smelt tobacco smoke quite distinctly even at the door. He goes 
down one street if he sees me coming along another. Even went 
into a ladies' outfitting establishment on one occasion when escape 
was otherwise impossible. Poor man, he needn't run away from 
me. I don't wish to meddle with him. Only I sincerely trust, 
for Jemima's sake, he is not falling into bad habits. I'm sure 
she's fond of him. But it seems strange he is not able to look one 
in the face. 

Major Murray is announced, and enters room. 

Jos. M. {after brief preliminary talk) : Excuse me, Miss Black, 
coming to the point at once. We old soldiers are blunt and want- 
ing in finesse sometimes. Will you marry me? 

Joan B.: If I were younger I might pretend to hesitate and 
say I was surprised. My answer is yes. 

Jos. M.: That's right. I like decision of cliaracter. Af- 
fectation of any sort is distasteful to me. Thanks for agreeing so 
handsomely to my proposal. My boy will benefit much from a 
mother's protecting care; and I — I don't mind confessing it — 
feel lonely at times. Jove! it's good of you to take compassion 
on an old campaigner like myself. I'm on the wrong side of 
fifty by a year or two, but have splendid health, a fairly good in- 
come, we fighting men require to take risks. This scar, which has 
permanently disfigured my nose, was received in action. 


Joan B. : I shall love you all the more for it. 
Jos. M. (preparing to leave.) I suppose it is usual on oc- 
cassions hke these toseal the compact?' Will you give me a kiss? 

Joan B. : I'm a passive resister, Joseph. You may take one. 
Scene 5. — Jemima's house. Two days later. Afternoon. 

Jem. S. {to herself, after Henderson's departure) : Such a pleasant 
coincidence. Two days ago the Major asked Joan to marry him, 
and now James has proposed to me and I have accepted him. 
We can thus have a lovely double wedding. The dear fellow — 
James, I mean — has been a long time making up his mind, but 
better late than never. I once thought he had a hking for Joan. 
It seems I was wrong. He asked if she was not becoming rather 
eccentric; wouldn't explain what he meant. Of course, she's 
not; it's just his fancy. But I'm quite sure the Major is. Met 
him on the street a week ago, and asked him when he was coming 
to the sewing meeting. That was all the length I got. _ He glared 
at me, turned several shades redder, raised his hat, right about 
faced, and left me looking after him in amazement. What was 
there in that remark to anger anyone.? If he had let me finish, I 
intended to ask him to give us a reading or something. He recites 
"The Charge of the Light Brigade "with much spirit, if a trifle 
incoherently. These old officers do sometimes become rather 
strange. I often wondered how the Major got his nose broken. 
Joan teUs me it was in a desperate engagement, when he was facing 
fearful odds. Poor fellow, perhaps the injury to his nose has 
affected his brain. James gave me such a laugh. He asked 
quite seriously if I was sure my love for him would never grow 
less on account of his wool. His hair, he meant. The idea! Of 
course it's red, the beautiful Titian red that artists love to paint. 
I told him so, and he was quite pleased. Alas! it will soon enough 
become streaked with gray. In the meantime, I can choose wall- 
paper and curtains that will harmonize with the dear old fellow's 
head. . . . This news is too good to keep to myself. I'll run 
along to Joan's and tell her. She'll be deUghted to know we are 
both going, going and will soon be — gone! 
Scene 6. — School playground. Time: following afternoon. 

Rich. M. : Nice mess you've made of it. 

Will. B.: Tell you what, Dicky, if you give me any more 
sauce, I'll punch your head; I'm sick enough of the whole business. 

Rich. M.: Same here. Met old mother Thompkins on the 
road to school this morning. She patted my head and said how 
pleased I'd be to have a new mother. I hate people who pat your 
heads, don't you ,Bill? 

Will. B.: Course. It shows they think we're kids what'll 
stand anything. Jo said the Major would be as good as a father to 
me. Like her blooming cheek. 


Rich. M.: I know what that means. Wait till you feel his 

Will. B.: He dussn't strap his brother-in-law. It would be 
breaches of the peace. 

Rich. M.: You wait. When the Major's monkey's up he don't 
mind what sort of breaches you call him. 

Will. B.: It's to be in a month, Dicky. That red-headed old 
josser, Henderson, means to be made one for ever and ever, amen, 
with Jem Sinclair on the day Jo's married. You and me's to be 
pages. Jo said when we was pages she hoped we'd turn over a 
new leaf. Then she laughed. I don't see anything funny, do 

Rich, M.: No. What's pages got to do? 

Will .B: Hold up trains. Only wish it was the same sort of 
game Arizona Mike and his gang plays on the rolling prairie. 

Rich. M: The tuck-in at the wedding'll be all right, Bill; 
but after that things'll be worser'n ever. 

Will. B.: They'll be worser for you, Dicky, 'cause when Jo 
marries the Major I'll be your step-uncle in-law, and step-uncles- 
in-law don't stand no nonsense from kids like you. 



Suddenly the moon drifted from under a slight cloud that obscured 
her serene beauty and revealed the man as he stood in the act of draw- 
ing in the blinds, but not the repulsive face of the peddler; instead there 
were the well beloved features of one dear to them all and a familiar 
voice answered at the instant of discovey, "A house breaker, where do 
people keep your money?" 

Down went the weapons while a delightful sense of safety filled every 
palpitating heart. 

With a smothered shriek, Mrs. Land rushed at the burgler, threw 
herself In his arms, and sobbed, "Fred, my darling, my own dear hus- 

Bertie with rifle across his knee, sat down and laid his head on the 
table and cried as if his heart would break. Suppose I had killed you 
Uncle Fred, he sobbed. 

Never mind, my boy," patting him on the head and laughing, "I 
didn't suppose I was in very great danger of being shot by either of you, 
and I'm proud to see that there is such a brave protector here." 

Laying his wife on the lounge he fanned her with his hat while Mrs. 
Hunter went out in the piazza for water. Between them they restored the 
fainting woman to consciousness and when she could sit up an explana- 
tion foUowd. 

"I found yesterday that I'd have a chance to run down for a few days, but 
if I had written I would have arrived before my letter, so I came down 
tonighi on the eleven o'clock train. 

As it was so late I expected to find the entire famil wrapped in pro- 
found slumber and therefore didn't think it the in least imprudent to get 
in at that window, which I knew had a broken fastening. After :finding 
the front door locked and alarming the house by knocking for admi- 
tance. You see uiy object was to enter here and get to Floy's room through 
ted hallway, I knew your room,' "turning to Mrs. Huntr, was next the 
dining room and that you were easily awakend; but instad of finding 
sleeping innocence here, as I expected I meet two Amazons and their 
champion, who is coragous as a lion, if young in years and there came 
near being a tragedy" and he bowed with mock soleminity. 

And one experience of this kind is enough" he added. "Here after 
I'll seek entrance at the front door, if it disturbs the entire household. 

"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Hunter," "If we had killed you Fred, it 
would have been a most dreadful thing. I thank the Lord, that the 


moonlight revealed your identity in time. When I saw you approach- 
ing- the house you were under the shadow of the oaks, or I would have 
reoognized you." 

it was all on account of that miserable peddler, exclaimed Mrs. Land, 
"it was he that first aroused our suspicion. 

"Ah, well," said her husband, as they arose to leave the dinning room 
nothing serious has happened, true it might have happened but a miss is 
good as a mile, as you have probably herad. 


Joseph Chamberlciin. 

It is interesting to note the progress which Joseph Chamberlain is 
making in his tariff refoim policy. He appears to be carrying the 
country with nim. The latest move is the establishment of a commis- 
sion , which has already been partly formed that will be a representative 
body of all Great Britain's dependencies organizing as a court of inquiry 
for the purpose of ascertaining, in a judicial manner what tariff measure 
should be adopted, for the interest of all concerned as against all the rest 
of the world. They hope in this way to take the tariff out of politics, 
which is just what ought to be done in the United States. 


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Contents tor jfebruarip 1904. 


Trip Around the World - - - - . - 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and their equall3' 

Famous Servants, S. and P. 1 

Four Out Of Five, Who Serve The King- 

(A Serial Story) Continued Edward Franklin 6 

Japan and Russia 13 

Claude Heathcote's Choice (A Short Story) 17 

A Debt Repaid (A Short Story) 24 

Mr. Crosby's Wife (A Short Story) 31 

Theatrical Comment ^ 37 

Literary Findings 39 

Fashions' Fancies 43 

Greece and Macedon (Poem) 47 

Pinehurst (Concluded) 49 

Successful Blind People 53 

Public Opinion and Current Comment 56 

Facts of Interest The English in Thibet The Mikado 

Scsne in Watkias Glen, N. Y. 

tCalhe anb ^alee. 

Vol. VII. February, 1904 No. V 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and their Equally 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 

Upon reaching Biskra, and after a few moments stay at the 
hotel, we hastened to take a stroll, which led along wide avenues 
of streets lined with palm trees and bordered here and there by 
luxuriant gardens. The richness of the vegetable growth in the 
oasis was in marked contrast to the barren desert over which we 
had traveled and we realized that it was this contrast between the 
two that led to the universal praise bestowed on oasis everywhere 
throughout the great desert. 

This oasis is about five miles long, and more than two miles 
across its broadest part, and contains 100,000 date palms. It has 
a large portion of its area laid out in gardens and fields. 

We stopped to look at a little garden where two natives were 
engaged in watering it. The process of watering is very simple. 
There is a little channel, perhaps about six inches wide, coming in 
at the upper end of the garden admitting a stream of water which 
flows into a tank. It is fifteen or twenty feet long, and not more 
than two feet wide, running across the head of the garden. 

From this tank some eight or ten small channels are directed, 
and they carry water out all over the rest of the space. These 
channels run in parallel lines, so that the garden on either side of 
them is kept well moistened, no matter how hot the sun may be. 
In the cooler part of the year it is only necessary to water these 


gardens three times a week, but in the height of summer every day. 

The spring which supphes these channels with water comes 
from near the foot of a hill on which is a fort built hundreds of 
years ago. Before the French conquered Algeria the fort was 
held by the Turks, and they were not on pleasant terms with the 
people of the oasis. The latter being quite at their mercy, were 
compelled to do whatever their rulers desired, and if the natives 
refuse to obey any demand of the Turkish commander he would 
have the water of the stream diverted into the desert, and thus the 
water supply would be cut off. This meant death to their palm 
trees and gardens and never faled to bring the Arabs to terms. 

Our next stopping place was Tuggurt, a distance of about 
one hundred and forty miles from Biskra, a journey of five days. 

As we pressed forward towards the south the mountains to 
the north of Biskra grew dim in the distance. We saw on our 
way from Batna to Biskra, one of the five mountains of salt, 
mentioned by Herodotus. For hundreds of years it has been a 
source of supply for the Arabs, and now that the railway to Biskra 
has been completed it will probably be drawn upon by the French 
for the use of the northern part of Algeria. 

It is what its name implies — a mountain of salt, a great mass 
of bluish rock salt, about fifteen hundred feet high, and has evi- 
dently been forced up from below. The salt is not sufhciently 
pure to be used on the table without refining, but it can be given 
to cattle or used for the preservation of meat in just the condition 
that we find it. It is at the end of a range of lime-stone moun- 
tains, and as we looked at it from a distance, it appeared much 
lighter in color than its neighbors. With the sun shining upon it 
at a certan angle from the observer, it sparkles and glistens so 
that a credulous person might be led to believe that it was a moun- 
tain of diamonds or glass, rather than a great mass of very common- 
place salt. 

Our first camp for the night was not without incident. The 
jackals very soon made themselves heard, and kept up their seren- 
ade until nearly morning, when Mr. S. observed "they are tired 
out at last." 

He was very soon set right, however, by the doctor, who 
explained that the cessation of jackals denoted the presence of 


bigger gain. He was supported in this opinion by our French 
guide who had sipped in to our tent, to inquire if any of us desired 
to participate in the excitement of a Hon hunt. 

The commotion among the animals, which instinctively dis- 
cover the approach of danger when a lion is hovering round, left 
no doubt in our minds that both the doctor and our guide were 

Immediately we went to get our rifles, determined to give a 
warm reception to any lion that dared to enter the camp. Mr. S. 
remarked to the doctor that it would be just as well for the lion 
to remain where he was. 

"There's little danger of his coming into camp," said the 
doctor, "now that we'er up and about. He will see us long before 
we can see him, and will be pretty sure to keep out of danger. He 
has been looking out for a chance to jump on one of the horses 
when everything was quiet." 

We were encamped on a little slope of ground, so that the 
ridge lay between us and the eastern horizon; at the doctor's sug- 
gestion, we spread about one hundred yards apart, so as to keep 
the ridge in view, in the hope that the lion would pass along it 
and thus give us a shot at him about the time daylight appeared. 

The doctor proved himself to be well informed, as the lion 
carried out his part of the program to the letter, for just at the 
break of day, he was discovered stealing along the ridge. 

The crack of our rifles nearly simultaneous, broke the stillness 
of the morning, and the roar which followed, showed that some 
of the bullets had hit the mark. 

Mr. S. started to investigate the result, as the form of the 
beast stretched out as though dead, invited approach. 

A warning cry from the doctor held him back, for as he after- 
wards related, "apparently dead lions have a remarkable way of 
coming to life on the near approach of the hunter." 

The warning, however, in this instance proved to be unneces- 
sary, and our trophy of the desert was soon brought into cam (£, 
and its skin, now in the possession of Mr. S. is proudly shown to 
his many friends and admirers. 

As we had reached the last artesian well before entering upon a 
long stretch of desert waste our camels, after storing away great 


quantities of water in the receptacle with which nature has pro- 
vided the ship of the desert, were carefully loaded with got skins 
filled with water for the use of the party. 

During the progress of this work, our guide, who had accom- 
panied many parties before, in reply to the inquiries of our party, 
concerning the danger attending such journeys, of perishing from 
thirst, said: 

"One of the greatest dangers is the drying up of wells on 
which reliance for the replenishing of water has been placed. 
Sometimes caravans containing hundreds of men and hundreds of 
camels have perished in this way, and there is an instance on 
record in which a thousand men and more than two thousand 
camels were destroyed by this misfortune. They started with a 
supply of water quite sufficient to carry them to certain wells in 
the desert, which had been Iqiown to flow for over a hundred years. 
Their supply was exhausted, or very nearly so, when they neared 
the wells where they expected to refill their waterskins. 

"It was known that the wells were in their usual condition 
six weeks previous. Imagine the horror of the leaders when they 
reached the spot and found that not a drop of water was to be 
had. There were more than a dozen wells in the group which had 
hitherto yielded good drinking water in abundance. One well 
after another was examined, and all were found to be hopelessly 
dry. It was six days journey to the nearest water, and to travel 
for six days without water under the hot sun of Africa was abso- 
lutely impossible." 

"The men dug new wells near the old ones in the hope of 
striking a fresh vein of water, but their efforts were fruitless; then 
they killed some of the camels in the hope of being able to obtain 
water from their stomachs, but again they were disappointed, as 
very little remained of the supply that the camels had taken in 
at the last drinking place. 

"The leaders of the party gathered together in a very serious 
conclave. The great question was what should they do to save 
their lives, and the lives of their comrades; the only thing that 
gave any promise of escape was to mount the camels and travel 
away as fast as possible. Each day they would slaughter some 
of the animals, and obtain what water they could from the stom- 


achs of the animals, and by sucking and chewing the flesh of the 
beasts a Httle moisture might be obtained. Orders were given to 
throw off all burdens of the camels except the saddles. Silks and 
other goods of great value were scattered on the ground in order 
to lighten as much as possible the burdens of the patient and thirsty 
animals; then the order to mount was given, and the column moved 

. "Before long men began to fall from their places, and the 
camels lay down and refused to go further. On and on went the 
caraven as best it could ; the bodies of men and camels marking the 
line of march through the desert. Of the entire number of men 
and beasts, only two of the former, and one of the latter succeeded 
in reaching a place of safety. We may rejoice," concluded the 
guide, "that occurrences of this kind are rare, but unfortunately, 
they do happen sometimes." 

Four out of Five, 

Who Serve The King* 

'By Edbuard FranKJin. 

A.II "RighU "Reser-tied. 

CHAPTER XI— (Continued). 

When Edward reached Washington, he found a carriage 
awaiting him at the station, and at the appointed time, he was 
closeted with the President and the Secretary of War. 

As he joined Griggs after the conference, which had lasted 
nearly an hour, the expression upon his face made it evident that 
the discussion, or matters considered, had not reached a satis- 
factory conclusion. Griggs had learned to read in Edward's face 
his various moods, and he did not remember having seen it so 
grave and thoughtful since the days when Edward was wrestling 
with the problems presented by his loss of sight. There was very 
little conversation between them on the homeward journey, and 
when he bade Edward good-night, at his home in Middlebrook, 
the same look of gravity and concern remained. 

At the supper table, Edward's rather forced attempt at 
pleasantry, and his failure to recount any particulars of the con- 
ference, were immediately noticed by the Judge and Mary, who 
looked at each other significantly, but studiously avoided referring 
to the journey he had taken. At length Edward seemed to realize 
that some explanation was due to his father and sister. 

"Well father," said he, "I know you and Mary will very 
naturally expect me to say something about the conference I have 
had with the President and Secretary of War, but further than 
telling you that it was of a most serious, strange and important 
character, I must remain silent until the President sees fit himself 


to make the nature of it known to the pubHc. There will be no 
impropriety, however, in saying that Ergonsorat, whom the crew 
of the Sprite saw disappear beneath the waves, is still alive, and 
that the problem with which the Secretary of War and the Presi- 
dent are wrestling, is one that, when known, will make the world 
stand aghast." Saying which, he relapsed into the old abstracted 
manner, and soon retried to his room. 

The following morning, when he left for his office, he had 
apparently thrown off, for the time being, the burden of thought 
that was oppressing him, as his manner was much more cheerful. 
But it was still quite evident that he had reached no solution of the 
problem which had so engrossed his mind. When he reached his 
office, he found Jack Eldridge awaiting him outside the door. 
After an exchange of greetings, and they were comfortably seated 
in the back office. Jack made known his errand. 

"You see, Ed, one good turn deserves another, as the old 
saying is. You certainly pulled us through that little difficulty 
with the railroad company, prime; and when I went in to the 
little grocery story last night, where I do my trading, I found 
Mrs. Green — she's tl'e woman who runs it — all broke up and crying 
over a letter she hac in her hand. She explained to me what was 
up, and I said to myself here's another rooster who needs to have 
his spurs cut. And 1 don't know of anybody who can do the job 
up brown, like my o.d friend Ed Crawford. So here I am to tell 
the story." 

"I'm right glad to see you, Jack. I've been in a sort of night- 
mare for the past thi-ty-six hours, and I need something to wake 
me up; for I don't seem to be able to make any headway with a 
matter I have in hand. So, go ahead with your story." 

"Well, you remenber, old fellow, when our high-school days 
were over, and you entered college, I became a "printer's devil," 
in the pubhshing house of Curtis & Johnson. I and a chap named 
Dick Green, who started in about the same time, became chums. 
Well, Dick married one of the prettiest little women you ever set 
your eyes on, and they were that chirk and snug in a little brick 
cottage over on Vine street, that I almost envied him; and never 
a Sunday passed, that I didn't call around and smoke a pipe with 
Dick. Dick would have it that I should be god-father to littla 
Helen. That was his fiist baby, you know, and after that thay 


had a boy — just a pair of them, as well-behaved and smart children 
as any you'd find. Well, it somehow seems like a fellow can have 
too much happiness in this world, and something's got to happen 
just to even up, you know. Dick had just paid off the building 
association mortgage, leaving only eight hundred in the savings 
bank against the place. I can remember it as though it was only 
yesterday. He was that light-hearted and jolly when he was tell- 
ing me that he'd just begun to feel like he owned the place, when 
one of the neighbors children came over and asked him to lend a 
hand to lift a horse out of an old cistern it had fallen into. You 
see the cistern hadn't been used for years, and the plank which 
covered it over got rotten, and I let the horse through. Springing 
to his feet, he snatched his hat and was gone in a minute. I fol- 
lowed, and we found that, sure enough, there was the horse down 
in the cistern, kicking and plunging like mad. Several attempts 
were made to get a rope under hmi, but it was no use." 

Some weeks later, Edward meeting Jack Eldridge in a street 
car, inquired how the Greens were getting on. 

"Poorly enough," said Jack. "You see, there are a good 
many poor people living up around their little store, and that little 
woman somehow could not have the heart tc refuse to give them 
credit; and, though they are well-meaning enough, as a rule, that 
don't pay her bills. She's known for some time that she couldn't 
make a success of her undertaking, and, although she's kept it 
from Dick as long as she could, it had to come out the other day, 
when an officer closed up theirlittle store vith a writ of attach- 
ment, and the landlord served a notice tc quit. The agent of 
the Associated Charities called on them, at the suggestion of one 
of her neighbors, who had told him that she knew that the family 
was actually in want of food. I haven't teen around very often 
of late, as, somehow, Dick didn't seem especially pleased to see 
me. He was that proud that he didn't wint me to find out how 
badly off they were; but when the agent of the Associated Charities 
told Dick's wife that her little children -would have to be bound 
out to strangers, her husband sent to the almshouse, and she have 
to go out to work to take care of herself, she sent for me to talk 
it over. I tell you, it was a sight to makqyour heart ache. There 
sat Dick, clasping his little girl in his irms so tightly that she 


looked up in wonder at the great tears that were stealing, one 
after another, over his cheeks ; and little Tommy marching around 
with his fists doubled up, saying that bad man that made his 
papa cry, had better not come raound there again; and Dick's 
wife trying to chirk him up by telling him that she could earn 
wages enough if she could get employemnt as a cook, and that 
they shouldn't part with Helen and Tommy yet awhile. I made 
Dick take twenty-five dollars I had saved up to ease 'um along a 
little; but you see, Ed, I've got quite a big family myself, and I 
was just coming around to have a talk with you and get a bit of 
advice; for, somehow, you always seemed to know just the right 
thing to do." 

"I intended to get around and see that friend of yours before 
now," said Edward; "but I have been so busy of late that I didn't 
quite manage it, and if you will come around after me when you 
get through work toinorrow night, I will wait over and go with 
you. I have a notion that your friend can be brought out of his 
predicament by his own efforts, and if I can make him see it as 
I do, we may succeed in getting him on his feet again." 

Just then the car reached the corner where Edward ex- 
pected to alight, and, shaking hands with Jack, he accompanied 
Griggs to the office. 

In the morning, after Edward had looked over the mail, he 
asked Griggs to accompany him to the office of The American, 
where there was a job-printing plant in addition to the regular 
newspaper office. Willie Nolan, who was still in the employ of 
The American, was surprised and delighted to receive a call from 
Edward, and when Edward explained to him that he had come 
over to take a look at the printing business, he took him in 
and introduced him to the foreman of the job-printing department. 
Edward explained that he desired to observe the working of the 
presses and other machinery they employed, to see if there was 
anything about the work that a person could do without seeing. 
The foreman laughed incredulously, but observing that Edward 
was serious, he led the way to a small Golding press and explained 
its operation. While he was feeding it himself, he turned his 
head several times so as to look at Edward who was standing 
almost back of him. The second time he did so, Edward inquired 
if he had just printed something. 


"I mean," he said, "while you were looking at me?" 

"Why, yes," said the foreman. 

"But you could not have been looking at what your hands 
were doing, and at the same time look into my face where I am 

"That's so," said the foreman, whereupon Edward eagerly 
requested him to stop the press and let him feel it over. 

Edward soon discovered for himself the exact operation of 
printing. His hands passing over the little movable table or platin, 
as it is called, came upon three pins sticking out of the pad of 
paper which covered it. Inquiring what they were for, the fore- 
man replied. 

"Those are the gauge pins. When we have made the type 
ready, we put in this little iron frame you see here, which is called 
the chase, and set it in its place in this upright part of the press. 
Then we "make ready" as we call it, by putting sheets of paper 
over the platin, pasting one over another until we have made 
the pad of sufficient thickness; then we start up the press this way. 
Now you see that the little table we call the platin is moving 
upward, just as the cover of a book would move upward if you 
closed it after placing it in a position like this press; that is, stand- 
ing on its back with the cover let down towards you. When the 
platin comes in contact with the type, an impression is made on 
the pad, and we see by that just where that impression will strike 
every time. Now, we could place the paper that we wish to 
print in just the right position on this pad by making a mark 
around this impression, at the right distance from the printing, so 
that the person feeding the press could tell just where to place the 
paper each time but the paper would not stay in its place, so we place 
two gauge pins at the back and one at the left, in such a position , 
that when the paper to be printed comes up snug against these 
pins, it will stay there until the impression is taken and it is taken 
away by the pressman." 

While the foreman was explaining, Edward had been putting 
postal cards in the position and taking them away himself. Each 
time perceiving very readily, by the sense of touch, when the 
cards came up snug against the pins, as the foreman had said. 
He also noticed that as the table or platin moved upwards, when 
the press was in operation, there would be ample warning to 


a person without sight, when to take away his hands. A certainc 
chck of the press readily told him when the platin was once more 
in position to take off a card and put on another. He was so 
overjoyed with his discovery that he could hardly wait until the 
foreman could get matters arranged so that he could try feeding 
the press himself. The press was, of course, run very slowly at 
first, but as soon as his hands got accustomed to the motion, he 
readily perceived that a blind person, with practice, could, in all 
probability, feed the press as fast as any seeing person; for the 
pressman himself had been running the press at a fast speed, and 
practically feeding without looking at his hands, being uncon- 
sciously guided by the sense of touch rather than by the sense of 

Edward was next taken to the table where several girls were 
folding sheets into book form — getting them ready to be bound. 
It took him but a few moments to ascertain that a blind person 
could readily do this work ; for, by taking hold of the right edge of 
the sheet with his right hand, and bringing it over against the 
thumb and fingers of his left hand so that he could ascertain by 
the sense of touch when the corners of the sheet were together, 
then holding the paper tightly with his left fingers in that position, 
and brushing his right hand back over the surface, he found that 
he could make an even crease at the back. Then, by turning the 
sheets with the pressed crease towards him, he could repeat the 
operation as many times as was required to make it ready for the 
process of binding. 

He was next shown the wire binding machine, or stitcher, as 
it is called. This ingenious little machine he found to be so simple 
in its operation, that a blind person could become an expert 
binder fully as quickly as a person with sight. It consisted simply 
of a steel table with a raised rim at the back and a row of little 
holes in a line from the right to the left edge, into which steel 
pins were fitted at the righ and left. In the center, just reaching 
over the back rim, was a steel arm, much like that of an ordinary 
sewing machine. The pamphlet prepared for binding was placed 
on the table, with its back pressed up against the raised rim. 

If it was to be stitched (as is usual), about an inch below 
the top, and the same distance above the bottom, the steel pegs 
would be placed in the holes in such a position, that, by shoving 


the book first to the right and then to the left, it would be stopped 
just in the right positions to receive the stitches required. 

Although the machine was attached by a belt to a revolving 
shaft, it was not thrown into operation until the foot of the operator 
was placed on a lever; so that the whole operation was simply- 
placing a book on a table ; shoving it up into the right hand corner 
formed by the rim at the back, and the right steel post; touching 
the foot to the lever for an instant ; then sliding the book across 
to the left hand corner, until it touched the left steel post ; then 
touching the lever once more with the foot, and the book was bound 
ready for the trimmer. 

The foreman, so skeptical at first, readily admitted all of Ed- 
ward's claims; but said that, of couse, sight would be required to 
make ready and oversee this work if it was to be attempted by 
blind people. This was readily conceded, and Edward after thank- 
ing the foreman, for his courtesy, rejoined Willie Nolan in the 
reporters room. 

"Do you know," said Willie, "while you were in the press 
room, the idea occurred to me that as the blind readily learn to 
play upon the pianos and operate typewriters, I don't see why 
they couldn't manipulate the keyboard of our Simplex type-setting 
machine." And upon Edward's request, he was shown into tha 
composing room, where the Unitype Company's compact little 
machine was being operated by two young ladies. 

When Edward examined this machine, he said, "I see but 
one difficulty here in the way of a blind person's being an expert 
type setter." 

"And what is that," said Willie. 

"Reading his copy." 

"But couldn't the person who does the justifying do that for 
him, leaving him free to give his whole attention to the operation 
of the keyboard? " 

"Capital — just the thing." 

Edward's enthusiasm, when he left the ofhce of The American, 
knew no bounds. He could hardly wait until Jack came for him 
tigs .ijf 

Two weeks later, Dick Green was regularly installed as an 
employee, in the job-printing department of The American. It 
had only taken a few evening instructions, after work hours, which 
Edward arranged for, and an application to Mrs. Simpson, the 
proprietor, whose interest was immediately listed, to bring sunshine 
gladness and prosperity, into the home of the Greens, 

Japan and Russia 

Their Comaarative Strength 

With Japan and Russia engaged in a conflict for supremacy 
in the Far East, much interest attaches itself to the comparative 
strength of the combatants. For in war "to be strong is the 
battle;" and now, we are all wondering which nation will emerge 
victorious from the threatened conflict. 

Russia is, of course, strongest in numbers. In time of peace 
her army numbers 860,000 men with 3,400 guns, and in time of 
war, 3460,000 men. But this vast force would not be available 
for service against Japan. It is estimated that the Russian force 
in the Far East is now 150,000. Military experts express the 
belief that hardly more than 50,000 additional soldiers could be 
maintained there, owing to the difficulty of forwarding supplies 
over the single-track Trans-Siberian road. And from this prob- 
able maximum of 200,000 men there must be deducted a sufficient 
force to guard the railroad, which must be kept open at all cost, 
since it affords the Eastern force its only direct connection with 
its base of supplies. Japan could hardly strike a more effective 
blow at Russia than to destroy portions of the Trans-Siberian 

Japan's total land strength is not more than an eighth of 
that of Russia — in round numbers 430,000 men and 1,200 guns. 
The regular army is composed of 190,000 men, with a reserve of 


Since the available land forces of the two nations are numeri- 
cally the same, the question of the comparative strength of the 
two armies resolves itself into the question of the comparative 
quality of the Russian and Japanese soldiery. This last is not 
a question easily settled. In the opinion of American officers 
who observed the two armies in the expedition to relieve Peking 


in 1900 the^Japanese are the'better'soldiers. This is not saying 
that Russias' troops are of a low standard, for Major Craighill, in 
his report on the Russian army in North China, stated "as observed 
on the march and. on guard duty, the discipline of their infantry 
seemed to be up to the excellent standard, whch it has the reputa- 
tion of maintaining." It is saying, rather, that Japan's army is 
marvelously well organized. 

In his book "The Russian Advance," in which he reveals 
himself very much of a Russophile, Senator Beveridge pays this 
tribute to the Japanese army: "It is a perfect machine, built on 
the German model, but perfected at minute points and in exquisite 
detail with the peculiar ability of the Japanese for diminutive 
accuracy and completeness. The Japanese army ... is built 
like a watch, and each Japanese soldier is part of this machine, 
like a screw or spring or disk, with this exception — every soldier 
is capable of being transformed into another part of this simple 
yet complex mechanism." And of the soldiers he says: "Every- 
where on all hands and by all nations, you will hear the praise of 
Japanese gallantry sounded loud and high even by their worst 
enemies, and a bookful of stories can be picked up illustrative of 
their daring and even of their chivalry." 

The Russian navy consists of eighteen battleships, five armored 
cruisers, nineteen cruisers, seven torpedo gunboats, twenty-six 
destroyers, fifty-three torpedo boats and two submarine torpedo 
boats. All of these vessels, of course, are not available for service 
in the waters of the Far East. The fleet that Japan will have to 
meet is made up of eighteen battleships, five armored cruisers, 
ei-ght protected cruisers and several destroyers and torpedo boats. 
Japan's navy is composed of six battleships, six armored cruisers, 
sixteen protected cruisers, four torpedo gunboats, twenty destroyers 
and forty-six torpedo boats. Japan can oppose almost this entire 
fleet to the Russian vessels. The Japanese navy has the advantage 
of being more modern than Russia's; her oldest battleship has 
been afloat but seven years. On the whole her vessles are swifter, 
and possess better armaments and better protective armor. Fur- 
thermore, Japan has the great advantage of being near a place 
where damaged vessels can be repaired. And, too, there is the 
immense advantage, possessed alike by Japan's navy and army, 
of being near the base of supplies. 


Thus it is seen that, in present fighting strength, Japan can be 
considered superior to Russia. But the first victory will not diecde 
the conflict. If Japan should overwhelm the 200,000 Russian 
troops now, and soon to be, in the Far East— well, Russia has 
sixteen more armies of this size that she could send one by one 
into Manchuria and Korea. In view of Russia's vast men re- 
sources, and in view of the high organization of Japan's forces 
and the great advantages she possesses from being near the base 
of supphes, it is impossible to predict with which eventual victory 
will rest. 

Senator Beveridge gives us interesting glimpses of Russian 

officials in the Far East. 

Admiral Aliexeff, Viceroy of the Far East, is thus described: 
"He makes upon you the impression of almost abnormal alertness. 
His Hfe has been devoted with the enthusiasm of a boy 
to the growing power of Russia. He is perhaps fifty years of age 
and instinct with nervous energy. His step is impetuous. The 
whole movement of the man is full of dash. 

"His talk is the vocaHzation of force; his- attitude, even 
when sitting in conversation, is that of bolt upright intentness. 
AlexeieflE is informed, very frank, open, never hesitating to formu- 
late a reply and giving you his opinion quite offhand. He is as 
quick as Admiral Dewey, of whom again and again you are reminded 
when talking to him. His days are full of toil; indeed, most of 
his nights are full of toil also." 

Second in importance to Admiral Alexeieff is General Grode- 
koff , the Governor of Eastern Siberia and commander of the land 
forces. Of him Mr. Beveridge says: "He is short in stature, 
broad-shouldered, bald-headed, full-bearded, nervous of speech 
. . . Force, energy, keenness, masteruulness — these are the 
impressions he makes upon you ... He was an officer under 
Skobelefi. He knows all about Afghanistan from having tramped 
and ridden over and through it." 

The relations between the men and officers in the army is 
pleasant. "The paternal and fihal spirit predominates. Instances 
of common soldiers acting as body-servants were frequently ob- 
served; but no striking example of harshness was witnessed. On 
the other hand, more than once common soldiers were seen in 
familiar and even humorous conversation with a general." 


Russian soldiers are taught to give their service as a duty 
and not from a desire for pay. Said a Russian to Mr. Beveridge : 
"We pay our soldiers practically nothing . . . but they are 
taught to believe, and they do believe, that it is their duty — a 
a part of their lives which they owe to Russia, to the Czar, and 
to the King of Kings in Heaven. We think it a mistake to pay 
soldiers. It puts the military service of the country on a mercenary 

Korea is the great stake for which Japan and Russia are 
plunging into war. Just why Japan wants Korea and why Russia 
is determined that Japan shall not have it, is explained by the 
Review of Reviews as follows: 

"Japan desires Korea because her population is crowding 
the home island and must have a place in which to overflow; 
because the climate, the soil, the products, the environment gener- 
ally, are little different from those at home, and hence would make 
an attractive place for this overflow. Also, she wants Korea 
because she cannot afford to have Korea in the possession of her 
archenemy, Russia. If Russia should take Korea, it would bring 
the Northern Bear to the very portals of the household of Japan. 
On the other hand, if Japan should take Korea, it would bring 
the little yellow man to the borders of Manchuria ... In addi- 
tion to her fine, ice-free harbors, which Russia wants, and access 
to which she is determined to have, Korea commands the Yellow 
Sea and the Japan Sea, and Russia want no aggressive power like 
Japan occupying the position Korea commands. Korea has fertile 
fields, genial climate, unsurpassed fisheries, rich mines, and room 
for growth. Japan wants these, as well as a place to stand to 
meet the aggressions of the Slav. Besides, Korea in Russian 
hands means a dagger pointed at the heart of Japan. It is a 
life-and-death struggle for Japan. She may be only feinting and 
diplomatizing in demanding guarantees as to trade and privilgeses 
in Manchuria and insisting upon her rights in that province, 
although her commercial transactions with the people of Manchuria 
outweigh those of all other nations combined; but as to Korea 
there is no room for diplomatizing. The vital importance to 
Japan of the peninsula is realized by the whole people, from the 
throne to the Japanese fishermen. The Japanese people are a 
passionate unit upon this point, and whatever else may be said 
or done, there will be war, before Japan will willingly consent to 
seeing Korea in the possession and control of Russia." 

Claude Heathcote's Choice. 

It was a mad, a cruel act, the one in my whole life that always 
brings with the recollection a piercing sense of shame; and though there 
was no question of forgiveness — Claude was the same generous, big- 
fellow then as now — I always feel that I can never wipe quite out the 
debt that is owing from me to him. 

A strange business it was, and yet not to be wondered at. What 
more natural , indeed, than that both of us, seeing mtich of the one 
woman and little of any other, should fall in love with her? 

"Art or a wife. Will! Art or a wife — but not both! The combina- 
tion is impossible ! " He said it scores of times as we sat working together 
in the studio that we shared for economy's sake, laughing his merry, 
infectious laugh; but never after Rosie came into our lives. The joke 
seemed to lose its flavor then. 

She was a typist and worked in the city from nine till five; but in 
the evening we saw much of her. Claude was the first to discover that 
there was a new lodger, and immediately came to apprise me of the 
fact, a new lodger, particularly of the feminine sex, being an event of 
more than passing interest. An acquaintance was soon struck up. We 
were alone and practically friendless in the huge metropolis, so was she; 
and each welcomed the opportunity. And thereafter we visited each 
other's rooms frequently. An hour in her society after a hard day's 
work acted like a tonic on Claude and me, and she averred that it did 
her good too. So things went on, and for a time we saw no danger. 

Gradually, however, a change came over the scene. The old con- 
fidential talks grew less frequent; we spoke of common topics, or else 
sat and smoked in silence; and if, by chance, one was with her alone 
for a few moments, the other became moody and suspicious and eyed 
him distrustfully on returning. It was becoming intolerable, and Claude 
saw it. 

"Look here, Will," he burst out one night in his impulsive way, 
"this can't go on, or we shall be like a pair of jealous old maids in another 
month. It's no good mincing matters — you love her and I love her, 
and that's the thing in a nutshell. Shall we — shall we let the pictures 

"The pictures! How?" 

I looked at the eager, handsome face, and divined his meaning even 
as I spoke. Laughingly, more in joke than in earnest, she had suggested 
that each of us should paint her portrait. " Glorious ! " we cried in unison 
and forthwith the task was commnced. A striking picture she 


made, too, with her roguish, laughing features, and the mass of 
light hair that was her chief glory hanging over her neck and shoulders. 

"Very simply. At the end of a certain time let us ask her which 
she prefers. Then he whose picture is chosen shall have the first chance 
to win her if he can— a fair field and no favor. If he fails, the issue is 
plain. What do you say, Will; shall it be so?" 

All the charm of his manner looked out from the brown eyes. It 
was impossible to 'resist taking the hand held out to me. I shook it, 
and the compact was sealed. 

That was the first act in the drama. The second came a few weeks 
later when, coming in after a walk, I found a letter addressed to me 
lying on the table. One glance at the writing and my pulse gave a 
little throb of frightened inquiry. Why should she write to me? 

"Dear Mr. Rainsford," it said, "I dare say you will be surprised 
to hea that I am leaving here. Some day I may perhaps tell you the 
reason, but whatever the future has in store I shall never forget the 
happy days of the last few months. Please say good-bye to Mr. Heath- 
cote for me, and believe me always your sincere friend, Rosie Armytage." 

For a moment I sat like one dazed. • Rosie going! What could it 
mean? Again I went through the short, queerly-phrased sentences, 
trying to read some sort of explanation into them. 

"Some day I may perhaps tell you the reason." What did it all 
mean, what could it all mean, save one thing? As the truth forced 
itself on me I turned sick and giddy. But there was no loophole of 
escape; no other conclusion was possible. 

Hastily I strode across the landing and knocked at the door of 
Claude's room. 

"Claude, Claude; open quickly!" I called. "I want to speak to 

But there was no answer; he was not in. So I went down to the 

"Miss Armytage," I asked, "when did she go?" 

"About three o'clock, sir," was the answer. "She gave me notice 
a week ago, sir, but asked me to be pertickler sure not to let anyone 

"Oh-h!" I scarcely knew what to say. "Did she leave you her 
new address? I — I wish to send something to her," I added, feebly, 
as an excuse for my inquisitiveness. 

"No, Mr. Rainsofrd, she didn't' I couldn't say no more than the 
man in the moon where she's gone. Pore young lady, she seemed wor- 
rid over something, to my thinking. P'r'aps she's lost her situation; 
they say do there's such a lot of them lady typewriters now." 

But I was in no mood to discuss the problem of the tmemployed 
just then, least of all with Mrs. Limb for an opponent, and went upstairs 
boiling over with indignation. 

So this was the meaning of a fair field and no favor! Six months 
ago I never could have believed him capable of svich treachery. When 


his foot sounded on the stairs half an hour later I jumped up and con- 
fronted him^before he had well got into the room. 

"Here, read this!" I burst out, thrusting the letter into his hand. 
"Tell me quickly where' she's gone, Claude, or by Heaven I shall do 
something we shall bot hregret!" 

"Gently, Will, gently!" he intervened. "I don't know what you're 
talking about yet. Who's gone, and why such theatrical tones?" 

"Who's gone! Little need for you to ask, I should say!" I blazed 
back. "But read it, and you'll see! — oh, yes, you'll see! Perhaps 
you'll tell me again that you know nothing about it — you, with your 
miserable lie about a level chance. You coward, you " 

"Will!" It was not so much the word as the beseaching gesture 
which brought me to a sudden stop. "Will! What have I done to 
deserve ths — from you of all men? I swear by all I hold sacred that I 
know as little as yourself; this is the first I have heard of it!" 

"Of course!" I sneered again. "It's very likely that she'd go off 
at two minutes' notice and not say a word to either of us, isn't it? I'm 
not quite so simple as to believe that." 

" You are very unjust. Will!" he retorted, warmly. " Be reasonable 
How can you believe that I would be so base as you suggest? It is 
impossible — you know it! And you wrong Rosie, too, in suspecting me. 
No, no. Will — shake hands, and tell me that you were wrong!" 

There, for the time, it ended. I made an ungracious apology, and 
we pretended to forget. But somehow it was never just the same 
again; the old confidence was destroyed, and the shadow of suspicion 
lurked between us. We still went on with the pictures — he with the 
joy of the true artist watching the canvas grow and glow with life under 
his brush, I half-heartedly and caring little whether the task were ever 

And whereas, as was natural, mine was a dull, heavy,l usterless 
production, his seemed to literally throb with life. 

"I think I shall send it to the academy, Will," he confided to me 
one night, viewing it critically, with head on one side. "It's not half 
bad, I'm convinced, and who knows but that it may be the first step 
on the road to fortune?" 

It all served to drive the iron deeper into my soul, to widen the 
gulf that was spreading between us; and I knew that it would take 
very little to precipitate a crisis. 

It came when I picked up an envelope that had dropped out of 
his pocket on to the floor. The post-mark was that day's, and the 
writing I could swear was Rosie's; I remembered it too well to be mis- 
taken. So they corresponded, despite his professions of ignorance. 

It was the last straw. For days the storm had been brewing; now 
it suddenly broke within me. I could endure his treachery no longer. 

When he came in I said not a word of my discovery; at the most 
it could only have provoked a dramatic confession, and that was not 
what I wanted. I had grown cunning and meant to strike in silence, 
where I knew the wound would be most keenly felt. 


Supper over, we sat reading and smoking in the usual way till he 
rose abruptly and said: "Good-night, Will. I'm ofif to bed!" 

"All right," I replied, gaping in pretence of being tired. "I think 
I'll do the same. Good night." 

But when I got upstairs my thoughts were far from sleep. I could 
hear him march about the floor as he undressed, and when he put out 
the gas I knew, because mine gave a little jump. After that I waited 
patiently — a quarter, half an hour, an hour — till I judged that he must 
be soundly asleep. Then, putting a pair of bedroom slippers on 
feet, I opened the door and crept noiselessly across the landing. 

Darkness and quiet reigned supreme. Everyone had retired for 
the night, and the ticking of an old-fashioned clock was the only sound 
that reached my ear. 

Our studio was at the top of the house. Like a cat I glided up 
the intervening flight of stairs and went in. A ray from the moon struck 
across obliquely from the window, giving to the room that peculiar 
unearthly look which only moonlight can. Everything that stood in its 
path showed up coldly and distinct, and elsewhere all was black and 

The pictures stood on easels a few feet apart, Claude's all but, 
finished, at the right hand. I alone knew how many hours of loving 
care he had spent on it the last few weeks, with what high hopes he 
looked forward to the morrow — sending-in day at the Academy. 

To-morrow! What rage would be his when it arrived! I fancied 
I could hear his wail of despair when he came up in the morning and 
saw what had happened, and a thrill of unholy joy swept through me. 
Some evil spirit must surely have possessed me that night ; one thought 
alone filled my brain — a wild, mad longing for revenge. It was the 
culmination of months of bitter jealousy. He had cheated me of Rosie — 
cheated me in a fashion as pitiful as it was mean — and now it was my 
turn to strike. Sweet would be the blow! 

He had thrown a cloth over the picture to shield it from dust. I 
tore it off roughly. More beautiful than ever it looked in the moon- 
light. I could almost have sworn that the original herself was stepping 
forward to meet me. 

One second I hesitated; then, picking up a palette-knife and feeling 
its edge with diabolical coolness, I raised my arm and brought it down 
with fatal aim. The tearing canvas made a noise of almost human pain, 
and a gaping rent stared forth. It roused me to greater fury. Again 
and again I slashed it with quick, angry strokes, till all that was left 
was a mass of streaming ribbons and my arm literally ached. Sending-in 
day would have little value now. 

One last vindictive lunge I made, leaving the kni:e where it struck; 
then I threw the cloth over it again and turned to go. There, in the 
doorway, stood Claude! 

"Will! Will! Oh, heaven, what have you done?" He sprang 
forward in an agony of fear. "My presentiment was right. Oh, Will!" 


But I did not answer — could not answer. Deep down in my brain 
there was the awakening knowledge of having done something I could 
never efface, committed a crime the enormity of which no term of years 
could soften. A warm mist seemed to be rising round me, I felt myself 
sway slightly, missing the arm that he threw out to save me, and then 
my head swam round, and I went down, down, down into inky, surging 

For four days, they told me, I lay unconscious, playing touch-and-go 
with death. All I remember is that when I opened my eyes it seemed 
the most natural thing in the world to see Rosie sitting beside me. 

Dreamily I asked what was the matter, and was told to go to sleep 
again and not worry. 

"You're forbidden to talk at present," she said. "Later on you 
shall hear all about it." 

And each time when I wakened she was there, and sometime Claude 
as well; they seemed to vie with each other as to which could pay me 
the greatest number of little grateful attentions. 

The day came when I could hold silence no longer. Returning 
strength had brought with it ugly fancies, albeit they were only vague 
and misty; and I wanted enlightenment. 

"Rosie," I said — I was sufficiently convalescent to sit up a little — 
"I want to talk to you. Come here!" 

She seated herself by me. " Well; what is it?" 
"Claude's picture — has he sent it in?" 
"To be sure. Why do you ask?" 

" Because — because I've been imagining queer things whilst 1 ve 
been ill. I'd got the idea into my head that I'd hacked it all to pieces 
— on purpose you understand. Horrible, wasn't it ? I suppose it mus 
have been a dream." 

She eyed me curiously a moment before she answered: "Not — 
altogether. Will." 

"Not! Rosie, what do you mean? No+ altogether! Don't keep 

me in suspense, or " 

"You did" — she hesitated for a word — "spoil a picture, Will, as 
you say; but it was your own, not Claude's. By a miracle, just before 
shutting up the studio that afternoon, he reversed their positions on 
the easels so as to get a different light on the bit he was working at." 

"And I never noticed the change! Thank heaven!" I felt two big 
tears ro 1 down my cheeks, tears of joy — and shame. "Rosie, you've 
guessed — you must have guessed — what made me do it! I've been a 
brute, a cowardly, jealous brute. Can you ever forgive me — you and 

"Forgive you? Such rubbish! Dear old Claude will, I'm sure, 

and I " 

She broke off abruptly and turned away. 

' "Well, seeing that it's all my fault " 

"Your fault! What nonsense is this?" 


" No nonsense at all. Yes it's my turn to confess now. Please — 
please don't think me horrid, Will, will you? but I found out some time 
ago that — that Clatide loved me, to be plain. It was quite by accident. 
The dear, generous fellow never said a word; in fact, afterwards he 
told me of his compact with you and was quite distressed. Of course, 
I couldn't stay on here in the old way after that; it would have made 
him miserable, after my telling him that it could never, never be." 

"You — told — Claude — that?" I could hardly credit my own ears. 
"Why, oh, why, didn't he tell me and save all this wretched business?" 

" Because I made him promise solemnly never to breathe a word of 
it to anyone. There!" she sobbed; "I told you it was my fault, Will. 
And going away as I did, like a thief in the night — oh, it was silly, 

"It was nothing compared with my wretched behavior," I replied. 
A delicious joy, tempered with fear, had spread over me as she spoke. 
"Rosie, I want to know why you told Claude that." 

■'Oh, no, I can't tell you; I can't." The hot color mounted to her 
cheeks, and she looked prettier than ever. "Don't ask me. Will; it's 
not a fair question." 

"It's one that's going to be answered," I said, strong in the convic- 
tion of having gained an advantage. " I believe, darling, it was because 
— because you love me just a little. Was it, Rosie?" 

"A little! Oh, Will!" 

It would be five minutes or so later when the door opened and 
Claude walked in. 

"Well, old fellow," he burst out, in his breezy way, "how are we 
to-day? Halloa!" — I don't know whether it was Rosie's blushes or 
my guilty look which attracted his notice — "I see! Well, bless you, 
my children! Bless you both, and may you always be happy!" 

People who went to the 189 — Academy will remember the striking 
study, catalogued simply as "Rosie." It occupied a prominent place 
on the line in one of the large rooms, and the critics for once forgot to 
be harsh on a new-comer, and even condescended to prophesy great 
things for him if he would only, etc., etc. 

Several years have gone by since then, and Claude Heathcote's 
name is better kown now. He is still the same jovial, sunny-dispo- 
sitioned fellow, however, brightening the world for all that come near 

"Art or a wife!" he declares, when chaffed on the score of matri- 
mony — "art of a wife, my friend; never both! The combination is fatal 
to success! I made my choice long ago, bless you!" 

The sally never fails to produce a laugh; and the listeners aver that 
Heathcote is a queer fish. Only two folk discern the touch of sadness 
that underlies the words. 



Cotild Make Money. 

'The man I am looking for, " said the mature-looking spinster 
sentimentally, 'must be utterly unselfish, brave as a lion, tender, 
truthful as the day, industrious, intelligent, thoughtful, of dis- 
tinguished presence, and one who never drinks, smokes, gambles, 
or uses profane language. I shall not mind if he is poor — that will 
not matter." 

'Not a bit," remarked the damsel's cynical old father, grimly. 
'He'd have a fine chance of making money, my dear." 

'How so, papa?" 

'Why, they'd give a fortune for a man like that in a show." 

— The Spinster. 

A Kitchener Anecdote. 

Lord Kitchener was determined that the Indian army, while 
under his command, should be in a condition to meet any emergency. 
When the details were submitted to him for the manoeuvres at 
Attock, then in progress, he approved of them generally, but 
strongly objected to one suggestion. It had been proposed that 
the troops to take part in the operations should be told off as usual 
that they might be in readiness to move when necessary. "Why 
give them notice ? " was Lord Kitchener's inquiry ; " and why warn 
staff officers ? It is surely all-important that the army of India should 
be ready to move anywhere at a few hours' notice. Let there be 
no published program and no issued orders ; let the conditions of 
actual warfare be imitated as closely as possible." Nothing, 
therefore, was allowed to be known, beyond the fact that the 
manoeuvres were to take place in the country round Peshawur, 
ground upon which there would be certain to be a mobilization of 
forces in the event of any trouble arising on the frontier 

— London World. 

Good Riddance; 

Suitor: " Will you give me your daughter's hand, sir ? " 
Mr. Candid: ''Certainly; I shall be very glad to get rid of it, 
for it's always in my pocket." 

— The Pater. 

Jl Debt Kjepaid. 


Far into the still hours of the night a man sat writing. His desk 
was a small deal table and he wrote by the light of a candle. All was 
quiet save for the scratch of his pen. 

" I must finish it tonight," he muttered. " Heaven give me strength 
— it must be finished to-night." 

He glanced round the room and a shiver seemed to pass through 
his frame. Such a poor, bare room it was! So small, so empty; for 
besides the chair and table which he occupied it contained but a bed 
which stood in the corner. 

Ever and anon the man's eyes would rest on the bed and the pale 
fair face lying so soft and sweet on the pillow, and again he would mutter, 
"Heaven help me to finish it to-night for her sweet sake — for the sake 
of my darling wife." On, on he wi'ote, with feverish haste. Sheet after 
sheet was covered and laid aside. 

Slowly the faint shadow of dawn crept into the room, but the 
hand that held the pen moved unceasingly across the paper. Then 
slower and slower still, till with a sigh as of pain, yet of gladness, he 
wrote the words: — 

"The End." 

" Paul Raynor." 

The woman moved uneasily in her sleep. Her lips parted and she 
murmured softly. She was dreaming. Paul rose and bent over the bed. 
Softly, without disturbing her, he kissed her cheek — such a pale, wan 
cheek! "My poor darling," he murmured. "My brave girl. At last 
I have finished the story. To-morrow (he had forgotten he had been 
up all night) — to-morrow I will send it in — to-morrow." His voice 
grew husky and tears rose to his eyes. 

"Paul, dear!" He started. 

"Did you call, sweetheart?" he asked. 

"Yes, dear. You have been sitting up again. Oh, you will ruin 
your health. See how pale and haggard you look." 

He laiighed. "It is finished, darling, finished," he cried. "I am 
going to send it off at once. The editor will receive it to-morrow. He 
will read it. Yes, my darling, he will read it, and then we will get a 
letter from him that will drive that pale look from your face. Oh, it 
will be a wonderful letter, sweetheart. It will bring back all the roses 
that were stolen from those cheeks. It will buy expensive nourishment, 
and — yes, it will take a certain little girl to the seaside. Oh, what a 
wonderful letter it will be!" 


He laughed, but he turned and was busy with the papers on the 
table, for he did not wish his wife to see the hot tears that were surging 
to his eyes. 

The sun had now made its appearance, and Paul went out to post 
the big packet addressed to the editor of the "Matchless Magazine." 

When he returned he found his wife had put a cloth on the table 
and had laid breakfast. Alas ! it did not take long to lay breakfast now. 
No cruets to trouble about, no toast racks to polish. 

She met him with a smile. 

"So it is finished at last, dear?" 

"Yes; this is the 2 2d. Just in time. The competition closes 

How well he knew the date! How the announcement had burned 
into his brain! " £1,000 prize story. The editor of the 'Matchless 
Magazine' invites serial stories — about 75,000 words. One thousand 
pounds will be paid for the one adjudicated to be the best sent in. 
Closing date, October 23rd." 


A young woman, dressed in deepest mourning, paced up and down 
the drawing-room of a small house at Surbiton. She had but four days 
before lost her father — the only relative she knew. 

Her face bore traces of deep mental agony. Great dark rings under 
her eyes showed how little she had slept for nights past. 

Oh, how her mind had been tortured these last four days. 

"Why did he tell me?" she murmured; "why did he tell me?" 

With a shudder she went over the whole scene again. Her father 
lay on his death-bed, and as he felt the breath of life slowly leaving 
him he called for his daughter. She came to the bedside, her face calm 
and firm, showing no signs of grief, for she and her father had never 
been bound by ties of love. Since his wife had died Geoffrey Hammond 
had become silent and morose, not seeming to care for the companion- 
ship of his only child. His time had mostly been spent at his office in 
the city, and but for an hour at night — and that not every night — 
father and daughter rarely met. 

She waited at the bedside while her father spoke. 

"Ella, my child," he softly said, "I am dying. Yes, I feel my 
time has come. We have not been to each other all that we might have 
been, and I am sorry — now." 

"Do not distress yourself, father," answered the girl; "you have 
always been kind to me." 

"I have always been kind to you," he repeated; "perhaps I might 
have been kinder. Well, it is no use regretting it now. Come closer, 

my child -" His breath was coming more quickly, and the girl bent 

low to catch the words he spoke. • 

"Listen," he said, "listen, for I am going to tell you what none 
other in the world suspects. Yet I must tell it to you. I cannot go 
with this untold. Two years ago I committed a sin — two long, weary 


years — and I have known no peace." He paused. He was breathing 
with difficulty. 

"When your mother died three years ago," he continued, "things 
began to look black, and I — I appropriated my client's money. Little 
by little I took, until I found . I had stolen " 

A low moan escaped the girl and a shudder passed through her. 
The dying man raised his eyes and saw the look of horror on her face. 

"Yes, my child — stolen — why should I not call it by its name?" 

Beads of perspiration stood on her brow, but she kept silent. 

"A bill for three thousand pounds was due. I had to meet it. 
To dishonor it meant to court inquiry and I dared not do it. Heaven 
help me, I dared not do it." 

The man's words were coming out in gasps. 

" One of my clients called that day and left a sum of money in my 
hands. ' Four thousand pounds to buy Reef Mining Shares,' he said. In 
two days the company went smash, but I had not yet paid in. I told' 

him — his money was lost with the rest. I had kept it — kept it," 

he repeated. "Oh, my sin! Ella — I am going " 

"The man's name?" asked Ella. "Quick! his name!" 

The sinking man tried to raise himself. "Paul — Paul Raynor," he 
gasped. His head fell back. His spirit had fied. 

All day and night this scene had haunted her. 

"Paul Raynor," she repeated — a thousand times. "He must be 
repaid." Yet how could she ever hope to repay him — for she had sei 
herself the task. 

Her father's sin was hers — "Unto the third and fourth generation" 
— and the wronged man must be righted. Four thousand pounds! and 
she hardly knew which way to turn to earn her bread. Her father had 
left nothing — barely enough to pay the funeral expenses. "Yet," she 
muttered, and her hands clenched and her eyes grew brave and strong, 
"he must be paid — and I must pay him." 

Suddenly she stopped in her walk. "The prize," she murmured. 
"Oh, if I could only gain the prize! But how — how? My poor little 
story. How can I hope to win? All the best authors will compete. 
Prizes of one thousand pounds are rare events, and yet — yet — oh, if I 
win!" and she clasped her hands, and her soul cried out in prayer. 


The editor of the " Matchless Magazine "was in an irritable mood 
"Tha'ts the^third time this pipe's gone out. Once more — only once, and 

I'll — I'll " But he had forgotten all about it again in a moment, 

and was deeply buried in some MS. that lay before him. 

"Ah, very good," he said from time to time — "very good." He 
continued to read, commenting favorably as he proceeded, and as he 
came to the end he murmured, "Capital, capital! I really don't know 
how I am going to decide. Upon my soul, they're both very good — 
very good. Er — let me see — who's the writer?" He fumbled among 
the papers on his desk for a moment and finally picked up a card, 


"Ella Hammond," he read. "Humph!" he muttered. "A woman." 
The editor was not a particular admirer of women-writers. 

"It's rather a toughish job," he continued, "to say which really is 
the best. Still, there's only one prize, so I'm bound to decide." 

He paused. Suddenly he smiled and said to himself, "Good idea. 
I'll ask them both to give me a call to-morrow. In the meantime I'll 
decide to whom the prize shall be given, and then I can see about arrang-' 
ing to buy the other." 

That night two letters were dispatched from the officer of the 
"Matchless Magazine." The first: "The editor^will be^pleased to see you 
at these offices to-morrow, Thursday, at 12 o'clock." The second: 
"The editor will be pleased to see you at these offices to-morrow, Thurs- 
day, at 12.30 o'clock." The first was addressed "Paul Raynor, Esq."; 
the second "Miss Ella Hammond." 


It was the editor who was speaking. "So. Mr. Raynor, though I 
cannot award you the prize, I am willing to purchase your story. Leave 
it with me, and as soon as I can find time I will let you know what I can 
offer you for it." 

Paul heard with sinking heart. "As soon as I can find time" — but 
editors take so long to find time, and every day was precious. 

Still ringing in his ears were the doctor's words he had heard that 
morning. "She must go away — right away from here. Sea air is 
necessary — absolutely necessary, or I cannot answer for the conse- 

How could he go back and tell his poor little wife that still they 
must pinch and struggle? 

He had opened the editor's letter with a cry of joy, for he saw in it 
a golden hope — and they had mingled their laughter and tears. 

And now 

His heart sank within him. With his face drawn — a visible sign 
of the abject despair he suffered — he passed out of the editor's office. 

A girl thickly veiled and dressed in deepest mourning sat waiting, 
but his thoughts were far away and he hardly noticed her. 

"How sad he looked!" the girl murmured. "Alas! how many 
troubled children in this great, sad world'!" 

A clerk entered. "The editor can see you now, madam." 

She rose and followed him into the inner office. 

"Ah! good morning," smiled the editor; "pray take a seat. Miss — er 
— Miss Hammond. 

'Mine is a rather pleasant duty this morning," he continued, "and 
I must offer my congratulations, as I am about to inform you that vours 
has been adjudicated the best story in our competition. You are accord- 
ingly awarded the prize of one thousand pounds." 

She had won, then! But how sudden it all was! She could hardly 
believe her ears. 


She rose in her excitement, and her eyes were directed towards 
the table. 

'Good heavens!" ejaculated the editor. "What is the matter? 
You are looking like a ghost." 

"It is nothing," she hurriedly answered; 'a passing faintncss. I 
shall feel all right in a moment," and, with a quick, nervous laugh, she 
pulled herself together. 

The editor followed the glance of her eyes, for they seemed glued 
to the table, and saw her looking like one fascinated at a small card. 

"Pray excuse me," she said. "The gentleman I just saw leaving 
— he — he was Mr. Paul Raynor, was he not?" 

"That was his name," replied the editor; "a friend of yours?" 

" Er — no — not exactly a friend." 

Not exactly a friend; she was only the daughter of the man who 
had blighted his life! 

"Ah!" continued the editor, "he ran you a very close race for the 
prize — very close. Your nearest rival, in fact." 

She listened as one in a dream. Her soul cried within her. She 
could sit no longer. She felt as though she must scream. Ah! the 
irony of it all! This, then, was the meaning of the pale and haggard 
face. This, then, had been the cause of that look as of a soul weighed 
down with sorrow and despair. She had taken the prize from him. Of 
all others — she! With an effort she calmed the heaving of her breast, 
the inward tumult of her soul. But she dared stay no longer. "The 
'fresh air," she felt herself crying. "I must have air and space, and 
time to think, or I shall go mad!" She turned to the editor, and with 
a hurried apology begged him to excuse her. She did not feel so well 
after all. 

"Certainly, Miss Hammond. I shall be pleased to see you to-mor- 
row, when we can enter into fuller details. I sincerely trust it is but a 
passing headache." 

With a feeling of relief she passed into the street. She steadied 
herself for a moment, and then hurriedly proceeded to write down the 
address she had noticed on the card. 

"ii, Connaught Place, Hoxton," she wrote. "Hoxton! and he 
had entrusted her father with four thousand pounds. 

Her brain was on fire. She knew not which way her steps took her. 
She felt as though she was trying to get away from all — aye, but mostly 
from herself. And still she muttered "Paul Raynor" and "Hoxton." 
She could see him returning to his poor, miserable home ; she could see 
him giving way to his utter despair and crying aloud at his share of 
Fate; she could — — Suddenly a woman's shrill scream rang through 
the air. A black figure swayed and fell. With a smothered cry a 
cabman reined in his horse; but he knew, he had seen, and he feared 
greatly. With blanched face he rushed from his box, but a hundred 
eager, helping hands had anticipated him. With gentleness and care 
they raised the white, still form. 

A commotion in the quickly gathered crowd heralded the approach 


of a passing doctor. Quickly he knelt to examine her, and in a moment 
had sprung to his feet. 

"Quick," he shouted to the cabman; "to the nearest hospital. For 
your life, man," he strenuously urged. " Quick! There may be hope — 
she is still breathing!" 

In but a few minutes the still prostrate form was being borne by 
the sweet, gentle hands of two nurses. Tenderly — aye, as a mother-^— 
they carried her to a small private room and hastened to administer 
restoratives. Slowly she awoke into consciousness. 

"Where am I?" she murmured. She tried to raise herself, but fell 
back exhatisted. "What place is this! Oh, where am I?" 

" Sh' ; do not disturb yourself," soothingly replied the nurse. " You 
must rest quiet; you need have no fear, you are with friends; but you 
must not become excited." 

Then they gently broke it to her that she had had an accident. 

"I am tired," she whispered; "oh, so tired!" 

Sviddenly she opened her eyes and called to the doctor. He crossed 
to the bed. 

"I am very ill, am I not, doctor?" she softly asked. 

" No, no. The idea! Why, we'll have you better in no time." 

"Ah!" she murmured, "I am not afraid. No, doctor, I feel I 
shall not recover." She spoke with calmness, and her face grew peaceful. 

Then speaking quickly, she said, " Doctor, you will do me a favor?" 

"Willingly, my dear child, willingly." 

" I want you to write two letters for me. Two letters," she repeated. 

The doctor sent for pens and paper and sat down to write at her 
dictation. He waited, but her thoughts seemed to have wandered. 

"I am ready " he began. 

"Yes, yes, two letters for me — oh, thank you," she murmured in 
reply. Then she continued, "The first is to the 'Editor of the Matchless 
Magazine' — it is quite short. "Please return my story: must cancel; 
explanations will follow," 

Again the doctor waited. "The second ?" 

"The other," she replied," I want written to Paul Raynor.' Please 
call and see me at once. — E. Hammond.' You will send this one at 
once by hand, doctor?" she hurriedly asked. 

"It shall be dispaj;ched without delay," he answered, and left the 
room, taking the note with him. 

But he wondered what so gentle a creature could have to do with 
a man living in Hoxton. 

Slowly the minutes passed. The ticking of a small clock on the 
mantelpiece was the only sound in the sick-chamber, and again and 
again the girl looked with anxious eyes as the minutes sped. 

"It may be too late," she murmured; "it may be too late." 

Suddenly she became excited and tried to sit up. She heard a 
soft echoing down the corridor and then a quiet knock at the door. 
The nurse rose to see who wished to enter. A young man, shabbily 
dressed, yet unquestionably a gentleman, stood waiting. 


"They sent for me " he began. 

"Yes, yes," cried the girl, "it is right — I sent for you." 

She turned to the nurse: "You will leave us for a few moments, 

With a gasp of surprise Paul Raynor recognized in the white, stricken 
figure the girl he had seen but a few hours before in the offices of the 
"Matchless Magazine." 

She turned to him and the blood rvished to her face, 

"You — you are Paul Raynor?" she asked. 

"That is my name." 

"You called on the editor of the 'Matchless Magazine' this morn- 
ing," she went on; "your story — he would have accepted it, only " 

"Only," bitterly replied the man — "only there was one better." 

"Yes, one better. I know; that one was mine!" 

" Yours?" 

"Yes, mine. But stay; I have something to say to you. I must 
speak quickly, for my time is short — aye, it will soon be over," she con- 
tinued. Then, looking him in the face, and gathering up what little 
strength she had, she asked, "What do you know of Geoffrey Ham- 

A deep flush mounted to the cheeks of the young man, and in a 
low voice he answered: — 

"What do I know of Geoffrey Hammond? Only that he has 
changed the sunlight of my life to one long storm. Only that he is a 
scoun " 

"Hush!" she cried. "Hush! he is dead — and — and he was my 

The man started back. 

"Your father?" he cried. 

"Yes, my father. He wronged you — grievously, but before he 
died he prayed for forgiveness." 

A pallor spread itself over her features, and she felt she was fast 

"My father wronged you," she hurriedly continued, "but I, his 
daughter, will ask the pardon and try to pay the debt. Listen! I have 
written to the editor; my story will be returned, yours will get the prize. 
No, no; do not say a word. You will get the prize — thank heaven you 
will get it. Remember," and her voice had sunk low and a light shone 
on her face, "remember it is part of the debt that I, his daughter, paid — 
part — of — the — debt " 

She was dead. 

j^fr. Crosby^s Wife. 

"I'm sure it'll be perfectly splendid, Halfred, and 'ow genteel to 
ave our private telephone, to be sure!" 

The speaker was a lady of some forty summers, which summers, 
since her teens, she had made use fo by adding half a stone for each. 
As Amelia Robinson she had sworn to love, honor, and obey her present 
husband, Alfred Crosby. She fulfilled each of these duties, certainly, 
in her own sweet way. She loved him as far as she was capable, I 
admit. She honored him to a certain extent — more so, perhaps, when 
banks honored large checks signed by him. And she obeyed him when 
it suited her. 

Mr. Crosby was a little, meek, inoffensive man, owning sundry 
drapery establishments. He was dominated by his wife and his brother- 
in-law, William Robinson, who lived with them. When Amelia Rob- 
inson had finally captured Alfred Crosby it had been agreed that, as 
each of them had an only brother and no parents, the brothers should 
board with them. However, William and Amelia had driven Spencer 
Crosby out of the house before very few years had elapsed by their dom- 
ineering manner. They were constantly having "dusts-up" as Spen- 
cer put it, and once or twice he had threatened to use his fists upon the 
said William. It would have gone hard with William if he had. His 
departure had occurred some months before this stormy conferencWWW 
departure had occurred some months before this story commences, 
and since then very little had been seen of him. He had never written to 
his erstwhile home at Finchley, but Mr. Crosby sometimes met him in 
town or called on him at his rooms in Highgate. With these expla- 
nations, let us leave our deviation and go back to our course. 

Mrs. Crosby, backed by William, had long worried her spoixse to 
have a telephone fixed up, and he had eventually acceded to her request 
which brings us to her remark at the commencement of this story. 

"Yes, Halfred," she went on, "I always did say we ought to be 
a cut above that Mrs. 'Arris, an' this'll do it. Won't it. Bill?" 

'It will, 'Melia," replied William. 

Just then the maid entered with a letter which she gave to Mrs. 
Crosby, who opened it and began to read the contents. Presently she 
looked up and said, "Ho! she will, will she? Dear me, 'ow 'igh we're 
getting.' Mrs. 'Arris will be at 'ome on Friday, the 17th inst., at five 
o'clock. Ho! indeed! well, she ain't got a telephone, 'ave she, Bill?" 

"She 'ave noe, 'Melia," replied William. 

"Oh, wot upstartness! Look 'ere. Bill. She's gone anh put a 
2^d stamp on her letter. H'm! Penny ones ain't good enough for 
'er ladyship, aren't they?" snorted Mrs. Crosby. 


As a matter of fact, the 2 id stamp was the only one Mrs. Harris 
had, and to save a journey to the post-office she had used it in the place 
of a penny one. 

"Bill, you take that there Itteer an' write an' say as 'ow I'll be 
there. Now ,make it polite an' ladylike, like this." Saying which 
Mrs. Crosby laboriously inscribed the following on a piece of paper: — 

Mrs. Harris, Ocean View, Finchley, N. 

Dear Madam. — This is to say that Mrs. Alfred Crosby will be 
happy to be at home with Mrs. Harris on Friday, the 17th, and hopes 
to find Mrs. Harris well as it leaves 

Yours truly, Amelia Crosby. 

"There, Bill, you take that an' copy itout nicely. Wait a minute, 
though. I wonder whether I ought to put ' Mrs. Crosby and suite' 
(which word Mrs. C. pronounced as suit), 'cos you'll come with me, 
won't you. Bill?" 

''Well, if you put that they'll think only my clothes is coming. 
Wotcher want to talk about my suit for?" 

''You don't understand. Bill, you don't It's the correct thing 
to put 'and suite'; but still, I don't suppose Mrs. 'Arris would know 
what it meant, so leave it out. Then, when you've written it, I'll sign 
it, an' you put a sixpenny stamp on it. I'll show 'em 'oo's 'ighest." 

With that William retired to his secretarial work, whilst Mrs. 
Crosby turned to her husband, who had been meekly waiting all the 
time the conversation between his wife and brother-in-law had been 
going on. 

''Now, Halfred, when will that telephone be ready?" 

"Next Friday, my dear; the 17th." 

"Ho! The same day as Mrs. 'Arris's at 'ome?" 

' 'Yes, my dear." 

''Well, then, Halfred Crosby, about four o'clock you ring me up 
so as when I'm at Mrs. 'Arris' I can say in a lofty sort of voice as 'ow 
my husband rang me up on our private telephone just before I came out." 

' 'Yes, my dear." 

"Oh, don't keep on saying 'Yes, my dear'; ring for the maid an' 
say I want a glass of stout." 

"Yes, my dear — er — I mean — that is — certainly." 

Mr. Crosby entertained very dubious views concerning the tele- 
phone. It somehow seemed a menace to him, and such it was, as wil 
be shown hereafter. 

On the morning of Friday the, 17th, as Mr. Crosby was leaving 
his house for town, he casually remarked to his wife that he would not 
be home very early that night. 

''Ho! you won't won't you? An' may I ask why not?" 

''Certainly, my dear. I am going to call on Spencer, at Highgate." 

' 'Good-for-nothing young scamp. Yes, go an' eat the fieshpans 
with 'im an' forget yer lawful wife." 


Mrs. Crosby probably meant fleshpots, but still we must pass that 

''My dear Amelia, Spencer is getting on very nicely, and, besides, 
to-day is his birthday ,his twenty-ninth, so I'm going to pay him a 
surprise visit." 

''Ho! very well. Now, don't you forget to ring me hup whatever 
you do. Now, mind, four o'clock. Number 284, Finchley." 

' 'Yes, my dear." 

''Oh, don't keep on sayin' 'Yes, my dear'; you'll miss yer train, 
go on." 

And Mr. Crosby did as he was told, as was his custom. 

During the day the telephone bell rang, and Mrs. Crosby almost 
dislocated her spinal cord in her haste to answer it. She was informed 
then that the instrument was in working order. Then Mrs. Crosby 
shone, and it was the telephone girl's funeral. For Mrs. Crosby rang 
up every person she knew who was connected on the telephone. 

About four o'clock the tinkle of the bell brought her at stretch 
gallop to the telephone, and grabbing the receiver she bawled: — 

''Alloa, who are you? Do you want me — No. 284, Finchley? 

''Yes, my dear," came the answer, in her husband's voice. 

''Ho! It's you, is it? Don't keep on saying, 'Yes my dear.' Do 
you want me for anything?" 

' 'Yes, my dear — I mean, you told me to ring you up, love." 

"Ho! Well, now you've done it " 

''Yes, my — that is, you know I'm going to see Spencer to-night." 

''Anything more?" 

' 'No, my dear." 

''Now, mind you're home early." 

"Yes, my dear." 

''Don't keep on saying 'Yes, my dear,' shrieked Mrs. Crosby, as 
she slammed the receiver down and rang off, and tnen suddenly she 
began to ring the bell again. 

''Number, please," came back the reply from the operator. 

' 'Dunno," answered Mrs. Crosby, ' 'but you might ring up the gentle- 
man who has just talked to me an' say good-bye to him for me. You 
do 'ave to say good-bye, don't you, 'cos I forget." 

A suppressed giggle was her only reply, and muttering ''Saucy 
cat!" Mrs. Crosby once more rang off. 

''Now, then. Bill, 'urry up, or we shall be late for Mrs. 'Arris,'' 
she called up stairs. 

"Yes, 'Melia," replied William. 

But Mrs. Harris was doomed to b^ without the society of Mrs. 
Crosby and her brother, for just as they were going out of the door the 
telephone bell rang again. 


Mrs. Crosby made a wild dash and grabbed the receiver. 

'"Alloa!" she screamed. 

"Halloa!" came the answer, in a feminine voice. ''Is that No. 
284, Finchley?" 

It is," replied Mrs. Crosby. 

"Is Mr. Crosby in?" 

Then, Mrs. Crosby thought, ' 'Ho! 'Ere's a girl wantin' my Halfred," 
and she beckoned William and in an undertone said, ''Pass yourself 
off as Halfred." 

''Are you there?" came in an impatient voice from the other end. 

"Yes," answered William. 

"Is that Mr. Crosby?" 

''Yes," replied his brother-in-law; ''who are you?" 

' 'Don't you recognize the voice? I'm Gertie." 

''Ho!" muttered Mrs. Crosby, who held the spare receiver; ''you're 
Gertie, are you? Go on, Bill." 

''What do you say? Are you there, Alfie?" 

"Ho! Halfie, indeed!" said Mrs. Crosby. 

''Yes, Gertie, I'm here," answered William. 

"How strange your voice sounds! I suppose it's because of the 
telephone. Well, I only wanted to remind you that I shall be in the 
A. B. C. in Cannon Street to-night at 6.30. You'll be there, won't 
you dear?" 

''Say yes, idiot, " mtittered Mrs. Crosby to the hesitating William. 

''Yes, dear," answered William. 

''Good-bye now, Alfie, dear. I'm in a hurry — will see you to- 

' 'Good-bye, dear; I'll be there," answered William, prompted by 
Mrs. Crosby. And then came the tinkle of the ring-off. 

Mrs. Crosby glared at the instrument and then at William. Then 
she said, ''The wretch"; by which she probably meant her husband. 

''Bill, I'm going to that A. B. C. to-night. Ho! that's how he 
calls on 'is precious brother, is it? I'll talk to 'im. Halfie, dear, indeed! 
My word, impudent 'ussy. An' a married man, too the wretch." 
Which was rather hard on Mr. Crosby, for, as a matter of fact, his wife 
had more to do with the marriage than he had. ''Ho! the faithless 
monster." And here Mrs. Crosby began to weep. 

''Dont cry, 'Melia," said William. 

"Ho! Not to cry, aren't I? What am I to do — laugh? Now,look 
aere, Bill, you look up a train to town, and we'll go to that A. B. C." 

Accordingly William looked up a train and found there was one 
at 5.35 p.m., which would get them in on time. 

Then Mrs. Crosby fumed and snorted until it was time for the 
train. She reviled William. She reviled her husband and the railway, 
and a poor, inoffensive porter, who asked her which train she wanted, 
got a ' 'What's that to do with you?" for his courtesy. 

Thvis it came about that at a quarter past six the indignant Mrs. 
Crosby, with the sorrowful William in her wake, swept into the A. B. C. 


She gave sundry vicious glances around, whilst William gave an 
order for tea. Presently she fixed her eyes on a pretty girl who was 
seated alone at a table, and, by her quick glances up every time the 
door opened, betrayed that she was waiting for someone. 

And so forthwith Mrs. Crosby stared malevolently at the lady in 
question, until the object of her gaze began to grow red, and turned 
her back as mtich as she was able to Mrs. Crosby. 

' 'That's 'er. Bill," she said to WilHam, ' 'an' I'm goin' to talk to'er." 

"Don't you be silly, 'Melia; you'll only make a scene," replied 
her brother. 

"Ho! indeed! An' who are you, may I ask? Who's doin this, you 
or me? 'Ere am I to sit an' see the wicked woman who's takin'my law- 
ful 'usband from me, and not say anything. I tell you I'm goin'." 

And so she went straight across to where the girl was sitting. 

''Hexcuse me, miss, but might you be waitin' for Mr. Halfred 

' 'Er — yes, "came the hesitating reply, ' 'but are you a friend of his?" 

''Am I a friend? Ho, no, I ain't a friend. I'm merely his lawful 
wife, that's all." 

"His lawful wife!" repeated the girl, mechanically. "I don't 
understand. You Alfred's wife?" And then, as though she had dis- 
covered an error, "You mean Alfred's mother, don't you?" 

Had Mrs. Crosby been proposed to by the King of England she 
would hardly have looked more dumbfounded. 

''Ho! you'ussy that you are., to be sure Hi'm 'is mother, am I?" 
and Mrs. Crosby glared so vindictively at the girl that the latter moved 
farther away along the seat. 

' 'Now, then, you baggage, what I want to know is, what do you 
mean by tryin' to take my 'usband away from me?" 

''I'm sure I didn't know Alfred was married," Gertie replied, 
now on the verge of tears. 

''Ho, no, of course not. Well, I'll show 'im when he comes in, 
the brvite." 

Just at that moment the doors swung open and Gertie cried, "there 
he is. " 

Grasping her umbrella firmly, Mrs. Crosby turned herself round 
laboriously and found herself face to face with her brother-in-law. 

''You here!" was his polite greeting. "What do you want? No 
good, I'll be bound." 

''Oh, Alf, " sobbed Gertie; "this woman says she's your wife." 

''What!" he almost yelled; ''that my wife?" And then he burst 
into peals of laughter. "That! Why, that's my brother's wife. He 
always was a bit loose in the head, you know," added Mr. Crosby, 
junior, in explanation. 

All this time Mrs. Crosby was sitting gazing open-mouthed at 
the two — too utterly dumb founded to speak. Suddenly she turned 
on her brother-in law-. ' 'Wot yer mean by calling yourself Halfred, 
and makin' me think she was after my 'usband?" 


"Oh, that's the trouble , is it?" 

"Yes, Alfred, I'll tell you," cried Gertie. "You know you told 
me you were having a telephone fitted up in your home. Well, I got 
the number by inquiring, and rang you up. Someone said you were 
at home, and whoever it was spoke to me, arid I thought it was you." 

"You — bah! I don't know what to call you," said Spencer Crosby 
to his sister-in-law. "This is some of you and your precious brother's 
work, is it? Where's that skunk?" He looked round viciousl)', but 
William had departed, William was wise, but William suffered that 
night when Amelia got home. "You see, Gertie, I didn't tell you I'd 
gone into rooms at Highgate, as there was a bit of a dust-up at home, 
and when I mentioned my brother, whose name is Alfred as well, was 
having a telephone fixed up, I never imagined you'd want to use it. 
I only happened to mention it because I'd just seen my brother and 
he had told me, so it was fresh in my mind." 

' 'But what do you mean by calling yourself by my 'usband's name ? " 
demanded Mrs. Crosby. 

"Well, isn't my name Alfred, too — Spencer Alfred Crosby? Gertie 
likes Alfred better, so we use it." 

"Ho!" gasped Mrs. Crosby. "Ho, this world! Where's Bill?" 

"Come along outside; everyone's staring at us. Hurry up!" 
growled her affectionate brother-in-law. 

Outside, Spencer or Alfred, which you like, put her in a cab and 
told the driver to take her to Moorgate Station, "although," as he 
cheerfully remarked to Mrs. Crosby, ' 'Colney Hatch is more in your 
line. And mind, if I ever get hold of your precious brother, I'll give 
him one of the soundest thrashings he's ever had. Go on, cabby." 

"It is 'ard," Mrs. Crosby was heard to exclaim as the cab went off. 
Spencer hailed another cab, and when inside he said: — 

"Dear, I've had a wire from my brother, saying he'll be at my 
rooms at 8.30 to-night, so I'll introduce him to his future sister." 

No. 284, Finchley, was removed from the telephone-book after 
one day's service. But what a day's service it did! William went 
abroad, and the present head of affairs at Ocean View is Mr. Alfred Crosby 
for since the night of Mrs. Harris's "At-home" Mrs. Crosby has never 
been the same woman. 

Theatrical Comment. 

In every city where the " Prince of Pilsen" has been given, the- 
atregoers have been delighted with the score and the wit of 
the book. There are nineteen numbers in the score, each of 
which is a gem in its way, and all of which are repeatedly encored, 
during the performance. One of the most attractive numbers is that 
great hit, "The Song of the Cities." In it are girls which represent New 
York, Boston, Washington, Philadelphia, Baltimore, New Orleans, Chi- 
cago and San Francisco and their dress is typical of the town which they 
are supposed to resprsent, the individual dance has its own character- 
istics. "The Message of the Violet" is one of the most beatitiful lyrics 
ever written, and its love theme appeals not onlp to the people in the 
boxes, but to the gallery as well. Another song, "The Tale of The 
Sea Shell," with its superb chorus and ensemble has been whistled all 
over the world since first made public. "Heidelberg," "Walk, Mister, 
Walk," "It Was The Dutch" and all of the rest are equally popular. 
Never since the days of "The Bohemian Girl" has anything so caught 
the public fancy. The company is practically the same organization 
which has been so long presenting it. 

"Pretty Peggy," which is from the pen of Frances Aymar 
Mathews, was one of the three dramatic productions which ran through 
the end of last season and into this in New York. Miss Mathews' play is a 
new treatment of the life of Peg Wojfhigton, the actress, whose love affair 
with Daind Garrick is here seriously requisitioned for the first time. 
The story is an interesting one and, incidentally, it takes the auditor 
into the heart of picturesque, theatrical London, introducing such 
choracters as Colley Gibber and John Rich, and such localities as the green 
room of old Convent Garden Theater. The play begins in the circus 
booth of Madame Vtolante at Dublin, where Peg decides upon abandon- 
ing the provinces, and accompanying Garrtck to London. In the second 
act she is shown at the height of her triumph at Co vent Garden, madly 
enamored of Garrick. During the course of a birthday dinner, she hears 
that David has been carrying on an affair with a French dancer, Eva 
Sorel, but she ignores the charge, and the conclusion of the scene reveals 
her m the actor's arms. Then comes the climax of the drama. On the 
day of her wedding, garbed in her marriage finery. Peg is confronted 
by La Sorel, who relates all the incidents of her life with Garrick. ' ' You 
won my heart and soul," Peg says to the intended bridegroom, "but 
you won this woman first. Out of my house, David Garrick! 'I wouldn't 
marry you now if you were the only man in London." This height of 
emotionalism Miss George is said to reach exceedingly well, and she 
touches the tragic, too, in the act following when, dying after quelling a 


riot that is one of the features of the piece, she resigns herself to the 
arms of her recreant lover. 

" The Burgomaster, " a musical comedy, will again bid for popular 
favor. The play is the thing — and "The Burgomaster" is "it," at least 
judging from the reception it has received all over the country. Where- 
ever it goes it is an emphatic hit from the beginning of its really clever 
overture to the fall of the final curtain, and it may be justly added that 
t is one of the most tuneful and merry little musical comedies that has 
been produced in this country in many a day. Frank Pixley, a news- 
paper man, is responsible for the words and the story they tell, and Gus- 
tav Luders is the composer of the music. The lines are exceptionally 
funny, and best of all there is not a syllable that can offend the most 
fastidious. Mr. Luders' music is equally worthy of commendation. 
The melodies are all "catchy," admirably orchestrated, and abound in 
warmth and color. Mr. Luders did not strive to write classics that would 
go thundering down the ages like a Wagner overture. He wrote to set 
feet keeping time and one's blood circulating faster — and how well he 
succeeded is proven by the wonderful success of his efforts. "The 
Burgomaster" is full of these tantalizing tunes, and one can scarcely 
refrain from whistling them. The scene of the prologue is Manhattan 
Island in 1660, where Peter Stuyvesant, the Burgomaster, and Doodle 
Von Kull, his secretary, fearing that the settlers are to be attacked by 
the British and Swedish forces and by the Tammany tribe of Indians, 
decide to avoid the duties which such an attack would naturally force 
upon them, and in a moment of despondency, they drink the "drugged" 
wine originally prapared for their enemies, and sink into a Rip Van 
Winkle slumber until the troubles blow over. The two fall asleep so 
soundly that they do not wake up until the year 1901, when a gang of 
laborers, digging a trench on Broadway, New York City, unearth the 
unsophisticated Dutchmen who forthwith set out to see the town under 
the guidance of Willie Von Astorbilt, a gilded youth, and the Harlem 
Spider, a typical pugilist of the day, who believes in words not blows. 
Burgomaster and Doodle see life in New York, make a tour of Wall 
Street and Coney Island, and incidentally visit a palatial bal room in 
one of New York's most famous mansions, where a private theatrical 
performance is being given. In fact the pace is so rapid and the existing 
sights so varied that words fail the old Burgomaster, and all he can say 
is "Is it possible." 


A young student lately presented himself for examination, 
and ignominiously failed. To his family, anxious to hear of his 
success, he telegraphed thus: 

"Examination splendid; professors enthusiastic. They wish 

for a second next year." 

- — The Kid, 

Literary Findings. 

Scribner's Magazine for January, beginning its thirty-fifth 
volume contains two of the leading features of the coming year, 
Robert Grant's serial, The Undercurrent, and Captain' Mahan's 
The War of 1812. Robert Grant's fame as a social philosopher 
and satirist was increased by his Reflections of a Married Man, 
and fully confirmed later in his remarkable novel. Unleavened 
Bread. The Undercurrent is the highest achievement of his art. 
It presents a number of very individual characters — not types — 
struggling with present-day conditions. It is a human love-story, 
unfolded by actual conditions of wealth and poverty, religion and 
irreligion. Captain Mahan is the highest living authority on 
naval affairs. He has devoted years to the accumulation of mate- 
rial for this history of The War of 1812. It is not confined to naval 
affairs, but gives a clear, logical account of the whole war. In the 
January number he discusses the causes of the war. A New 
Valley of Wonders is a description by F. S. Dellenbaugh, the author 
and artist, of a valley in Southern Utah, unknown to the general 
public, which rivals in beauty and grandeur the Yosemite and the 
Yellowstone. The illustrations reveal the marvellous beauties 
which will become one of the great sights for the traveler to visit. 
Among the younger artists in England no one has reached the 
eminence of Frank Brangwyn. His work is known in all the art 
centres of Europe. Mr. Spielmann gives a comprehensive ac- 
count of it, and examples .of his skill are reproduced to illustrate it. 
S. P. Langley, the head of the Smithsonian Institute, reviews the 
distinctly scientific work which is carried on by nearly every de- 
partment of the government. This article will reveal to the people 
the wonderful scientific activity which makes the government the 
greatest educational force in this country. The Seven Studious 
Sisters, by Margaret Sherwood, is a pleasing satire on higher educa- 
tion for women; illustrated in colors. The Revel of the Sacred 
Cats, by a new writer, P. L. Allen, describes a remarkable achieve- 
ment by a college banjo club; with illustrations by May Wilson- 


Watkins, printed in tint. On the Trail of a Go-Cart, by Ann De- 
voore, is a love story. How Papadoff Crossed the Frontier, by 
Frederick Palmer, deals with some Bulgarian revolutionists. 
The Major Gets Even, by Ewan Macpherson, is a tale of heroism 
in a Kentucky town. Five artists of distinction — Blashfield, 
Fowler, Low, Frazier and Reed, give their high opinion of the 
work of the late Alfred Q. Collins, the portrait painter. 

In The Maids of Paradise, Robert W. Chambers again 
demonstrates what a wealth of material a clever writer may evolve 
from one field, thoroughly cultivatied and exhaustibly developed. 
The story is like Loraine, covers practically the same ground, with 
its foundations laid in incidents of the Franco-Prussian war. The 
newness is there, however, and the writer has added additional 
interest in a study of the birth of communism, following the de- 
feat of the French arms in the struggle which terminated in the 
fall of Paris. There is no question that Mr. Chambers has made 
a wonderfully comprehensive study of the influences, cause and 
effect, which made themselves felt in those stormy days of French 
history, and I really believe has accumulated sufficient material 
to write a bigger story along these lines than he has hitherto 
achieved. In this tale he finds opportunities and makes an inter- 
esting character study in an American adventurer in the secret 
police of Paris. He also makes much literary capital out of that 
historical mystery which surrounded the crown jewels of France 
at the time of the fall of the Capital. As a foil for his adventurous 
hero of the tale, the author introduces a crafty criminal and suc- 
ceeds in providing a sufficient number of entanglements to sustain 
the romantic interest one finds in all the Chambers' stories. The 
character of the poacher's daughter as well as that of her father is 
deftly drawn and might be considered as a bid for the offices of a 
playwright; in fact, the narrative really offers abundant oppor- 
tunity for staging a romantic melodrama. The tale concludes in the 
usual pacific manner, but is nevertheless interesting to the end. 
As I have said before, this writer has sufficient material and the 
touch of familiarity to qualify him for the production of a much 
more pretentious and valuable effort than he has yet produced. 

A neatly bound volume titled Colonial Descent of Families of 
Batte and Eppes reached my desk the other day and it can be said, 
after reading the work, that the author has cleverly taken a geneo- 


logical treatise and made it a book of real interest evan to folk 
who, as a rule, abhor all books dealing with family trees and 
their ramifications. The author, Mrs, Minatree, the wife of a 
well known resident of Washington, has achieved a distinct feat 
by taking a subject purely and entirely of interest to the families 
with which it deals, and making it a book, brimful of interest. John 
Rolfe, Pocahoutas, Powhatan — these and other names linked with 
the history of Virginia all appear in delightful narrative form which 
evidences an intimate knowledge of the chronicles and chroniclers 
of the Old Dominion. The work has evidently been a labor of love 
and the thanks of the kinsfolk of Eppes and Batte, at least, are 
assuredly due Mrs. Minatree. 

It is denied that the local color of Baldwin Sears' novel, 
The Circle in the Square, was obtained in Richmond, Va. The 
absolutely fresh and peculiarly striking picture of Southern 
life given in this story has aroused much discussion. The 
author has been severely criticised by those who hold to the 
conventional and sentimental views presented in most novels of 
the South, but none of the critics have been able to ignore the 
power and interest of the story. It is amusing to note that while 
a few critics have declared that the author knows nothing of the 
South, the majority have said at once that the story could only 
have been written by some one born and living in the South. 

The interest in the picturesque old steamboat life of the 
Mississippi which has been shown by the success of Mr. G. W. 
Ogden's novel, Tennessee Todd, has raised a question as to the 
changes in the type of steamboat used in the days when the 
Mississippi was crowded with river craft. It appears, that up 
to a time soon after the War most of the great steamboats were 
side-wheelers on the Mississippi, although stern-wheelers were 
used on the Missouri. After the War, however, there came a 
change, and to-day most of the Mississippi steamboats are stern- 
wheelers, as may be seen at New Orleans by a visit to the levee. 

The controversy which has been going on over the appointment 
of General Wood as Major-General, has awakened interest in 
Johnston's History Up To Date, a concise account of the war of 
1898 between the United States and Spain. The book was written 
at the time the events described took place, and the facts were 
gathered largely from eye witnesses. General Wood, then Colonel, 


is frequently mentioned in connection with the "Rough Riders," 
at Las Gausimas, San Juan and Santiago, and later as Governor 
of Cuba. 

Mrs. Cynthia Westover Alden, President-General of the 
International Sunshine Society, has just finished her comprehen- 
sive book upon ways in which women can earn money. Her 
book is based upon actual personal experience in a variety of oc- 
cupations, and also upon the experiences noted from thousands of 
letters and personal interviews. Mrs. Alden's book, Women's 
Ways of Earning Money, will be the first volume in the Woman's 
Home Library, which Mrs. Margaret E. Sangster is editing for 
A. S. Barnes and Company. 

The recent dispatches from Russia' regarding the probable 
revival of Semitic persecution has increased in Mr. Michael Davitt's 
remarkable book, Within the Pale. The publishers of this book 
report that it is now in its eighth thousand. It is [said that 
the book has produced a profound impression upon members of 
Congress since it is universally accepted as the standard work 
upon this great race and religious question and it is written as 
the result of personal observation in Russia. .;,. > 

Joseph C. Lincoln's first novel, which will be published shortly, 
is entitled Cap'n Eri:' A Story of the Coast. The scene is laid 
on Cape Cod, which was the author's early home. The genuine 
humor which Mr. Lincoln has shown in his short stories and the 
success of his verses have aroused special interest in his forth- 
coming book, 

— The M oiler. 

Didjthe Trick. 

''Do you know anything, doctor," said Mrs. Finikin, that will 
put a little color into my cheeks? I am so dreadfully pale." 

"Well, madam," replied Doctor Blunt, 'perhaps if I tell you 
that you have a hole in your stocking about the size of a 
may have the desired effect." 

—The Bore. 

Fashions' Fancies 

There has been some attempt, within the past two years, to intro- 
duce the pineapple guaze of the Philippines, but somehow the fabric 
did not take . It is hard and wiry and the pieces first brought over 
were not particulary attractive in color. This year we are to see some 
really charming examples of island weaving. The gauze, which is woven 
from fibres of the pineapple plant, is nndyed, and is striped with clear 
tones of red, blue, mauve and yellow silk. Notwithstanding its airy 
texture, the gauze washes well, but whether the colors are fast has not 
been demonstrated. Pineapple is not a very expensive material, dress 
patterns selling at the present time for $io and upwards. In the season 
they are a little higher. Something really new in wash waists is always 
hailed with acclamations, and it is hardly possible that anything more 
exquisite will be seen this year than some recent importations from 
Japan seen at a private view of beautiful things a day or two ago. Some 
of the waists and the materials from which they were evolved will be 
shown next week. Of the fabrics two are comparatively new and have 
never been common enough to be popular. Chinese grass linen is a 
thin, sheer, irregularly woven linen, with a silky finish. It is manu- 
factured in the Canton district, and is sometimes spoken of as Canton 
linen. Quantities of it have been sent to Japan lately, there to be drawn- 
worked and embroidered in dress and waist patterns for the American 
and European market. Drawn work is by no means a native art in 
Japan, but it has been adopted with that swiftness of assimilation that 
characterizes the Japanese. They give their own touch to the patterns, 
of course, and when the work is finished it is as Japanese as the bit of 
embroidery they nearly always add. The waists seen recently are very 
elaborately embroidered in chrysanthemum, cherry blossom, hawthorn 
and dragon designs. The list named is bizarre, but highly decorative, 
and will be popular. A tj^pical waist has two short, stole-like lines of 
drawnwork at the throat, alternating with groups of three hemstitched 
tucks. Nearly the entire front of the waist is embroidered in cherry 
blossoms. The waist closes in the back and has lines of drawnwork on 
either side of the button flap. The sleeves have the drawnwork from 
shoulder to wristband, with groups of hemstitched tucks as a border. 
Tucks and very narrow drawnwork bands form the shallow cuff's. Kinu 
is the Japanese name for raw silk, but the word is used to specifically 
describe a new wash silk. Pronounce it kinyu, with the accent on the 
first syllable, though, properly, the Japanese language has no accents. 
By the yard, kinyu sells for one dollar, but very little of it is seen as yet. 


except in some charming waists in one importing house. There is 
nothing quite like it, some of the rougher pongees having something of 
the same irregular, hand-loom surface, with brownish threads showing 
through occasionally. Kinu, however, is as thin as India silk. The 
very old home-woven silk sheets our grandmothers stored away in laven- 
endar were really about the same thing. Some of the waists are simple 
affairs with a touch of heavy lace and a bit of pale blue or dull green 
embroidery for trimming, but others are handsome and ornate affairs. 
This column does not consider the separate waist with a dark skirt 
good style, and only advises it for home and informal wear. It is simply 
an extravagance to put thirty or forty dollars into a waist when the 
same amount of money, or a little more, would purchase an entire 
gown. Perhaps the fashion of wearing white cloth skirts and white 
waists will become permanent. In that case it might pay to buy a kinyu 
waist, combined with lace and strips of embroidery from a mandarin 
skirt. In one instance the strips were rich brue satin embroidery with 
hawthorn. In another the embroidery was Bulgarian, small squares of 
brilliant red and gold. India linen is to be revived for lingerie waists. 
Not the stiff nainsook imitation called India linen which, of course, is all 
cotton, but the real linen woven and bleached in India. It is very fine 
an dsoft, and looks cooler than almost any other white goods. Some 
handsomely embroidered waist patterns are among recent importations. 
The popularity of Valenciennes lace will be even greater this year 
than last. The real lace is not out of reach of modest purses, and is so 
far superior to the best imitation that it is a temptation. As real lace 
wears for years, and Valenciennes is never very long out of fashion, one 
is not to be accused of extravagance if she wears a lingerie waist with 
a square yoke made of strips of real lace insertion, joined with fine 
seaming. The yoke is finished at the bottom with a strip of lace and 
a slightly fulled ruffle of a matching edge, the seaming outlining the 
in.sertion on either side. The waist described is of white China silk, 
but India linen or mull would be equally good. The waist is joined to 
the lace yoke in groups of fine pin tucks for fullness. Short pointed 
strips of the insertion are inset at the belt, running upwards about six 
inches. Deep cuffs and a collar of bands of lace and seaming finish the 
waist. A favorite trimming will be the open cut work, or old English 
embroidery, a showy but elegant form of needlework, popular in early 
Victorian days, before machine embroidery destroyed the taste simple 
things. Some very handsome linen gowns and gown patterns in china 
blue and old pink linen, bordered with this embroidery ai'e seen. The 
designs are all very simple — a mere line of heavy white emrboidery on 
the blue, with open work spaces coming into the pattern at intervals. 
It is as effective as anyhing that has been seen. A beautiful dinner 
or theatre gown in printed net was seen recently. The foundation was 
white taffeta, and the gown fabric white net with a vine-like design of 
black. The skirt had a hip yolk of small tucks, and the deep tucked 
flounce was headed with a wavy band of fine brack lace. The flounce 
was trimmed with a ten-inch border of lace, the top of which was waved, 


and the points were oiitlined with a tiny ruching of black net. The high 
collar of the bodice was of Irish lace, while the round yoke was of strips 
of Valenciennes edging, each strip outlined with a small fold of pale blue 
chiffon velvet. The net blouse was shirred on the yoke in rather heavy 
corded lines, and served only to hold the deep corselet piece of lace 
which rose from the crtish girdle of blue velvet. The waist opened in 
the front, showing a narrow vest of accordion-plaited white chiffon 
The sleeves followed the prevailing mode and repeated, or carried on the 
waist. Thus the tops of the sleeves were of the shirred net, and the 
lower part to the tops of the Valenciennes cuffs were of the black lace. 
Another pretty net gown was made for a young girl. It was white with 
pink blossoms, and was made over pale blue taffeta. The skirt was 
very simply made with five graduated tucks, each headed with a line of 
Venice lace banding. The bwbw waist had a square yoke of tucked 
white silk muslin, the tucks running across instead of up and down. 
The proper long-shoulder effect was given by continuing the transparent 
yoke over the arms several inches. A Venice lace banding outlined the 
bodice, crossed the sleeve where the tucked muslin ended and the full 
net sleeve began, and was carried over the shoulder in a strap. There 
was a sash of pale blue silk shadowed with a black pattern and bordered 
with blue chiffon velvet. These gowns of transparent net are being made 
up in numbers for the fortunate minority who spend part of the Winter 
in Florida and the South. A mauve net made for a Florida resort had 
a long skirt with many graduated folds- to simulet tucks, a band of mauve 
velvet ribbion dividing each. The bodice was charming, with a collar 
and pointed yoke piece of real Valenciennes lace, and a double surplice 
cape collar falling low over the shoulders and crossing in front." A fiat 
collar of the velvet finished the surplice and a high belt of velvet was 
fastened with a silver buckle set with rough amethysts. The sleeves 
had high cuffs of lace outlined with a fold of velvet. Dotted nets are 
fashionable. A striking evening gown for a matron has a black founda- 
tion with wafer spots of red chenille. The underdress is white taffeta and 
there is the usual interlining of white chiffon. The top of the low bodice 
has a bertha-like decoration of black jet, and the top of the sleeve, which 
droops far down, leaving the shoulder bare, is also of the jet. The same 
trimming appears in a band around the hips, which does not, however, 
quite meet in the front. The skirt is in four deep, pointed ruffles, edged 
with ruchings of red and black tulle. The foot of the skirt is finished 
with several ruflfles of black lace. High girdle of red velvet. 

The Modiste. 



A Strange Fact. 

Portly Dame (with the aid of her maid, struggHng into her last 
season's winter jacket) : 'Why, Jane, I really believe this thing has 

"Yes, m'm; it is really wonderful how clothes do shrink at 
your time of life." — The Maid. 

Of Coarse Not. 

The Butler: 'Yes, I dare say they are rather vulgar folks and 
don't appreciate fine cooking." 

The Chef: 'Zat ees eet, Meestaire Butlaire. I tell you I 
would not stay here one minute eef eet were not for ze salary!" 

— The Valet. 

A Long Time. 

"By the way, what made you go out of your way to attend to 
that fellow first?" 

"Well, you see, he's a customer of some years' standing." 
"Ah! I thought he seemed tired of waiting." 

— The Clerk. 

Sliding Scale. 

Tramp: " Kind lady, could youse gimme a ole suit uv clothes?" 
Lady: "No." 

Tramp: "A ole overcoat, mebby?" 
Lady: " No." ' ""'■ 

Tramp : "A ole hat ? " 
Lady: "No." 

Tramp: "Den could youse gimme a piece uv cold pie?" 
Lady: 'No." 

Tramp- 'Say, kind lady, would it be askin' too much to ask 
ouse to r emember me in your prayers?" 

— Chicago Daily News. 


Greece and Macedon; 

When an army conquest -thrilling flings its foes on either side, 
And drives exulting onward with the conqueror's careless pride, 
While the beaten gather slowly, vengeful madness in their eyes, 
To the vanguard comes the glory, but the rear guard fights and 

The hosts march ever on and on, '^ 

But leave you still at Marathon. 

You hear the victor cries, you hear 

The trumpet challenge loud and clear. 

You cannot join them, cannot know , 

Within your heart the battle glow 

When "Forward! Forward!" is the cry 

And rapture's noblest is to die. 

Your eyes must still turn grimly back, 

Patient to guard the old, old track 

Where Persia's motley multitude 

Brought up a witness unsubdued, 

And Turkey, spent, but threatening still, 

Tries, when she can, your stubborn will. 

Here in this little nook of earth 
Beneath the Balkans, where the birth 
Of beauty draws the eyes of men 
Forever, you must bear again 
The brunt of Asia's centuried hate. 
You hold the pass that guards the fate 
Of those who find new worlds of law, 
New shapes of beauty and of awe. 
They turn their steps forever west ; 
For you the old must still be best. 
The march of empire cannot stay. 
Although the martyr spirit may, 
Leonidas can never leave 
Thermopylae and so retrieve 
In other lands a battle lost. 
Bozzaris here must pay the cost 
Of manhood; Alexander dead 


Hears new barbarian armies tread; 

And Missolonghi only draws 

A son of freedom to its cause. 
While you know that glad, triumphant, they are making conquests 

That they fill their hands, rejoicing, are you eager for your due? 
Do you wonder if, forgetful of the fears you save them yet. 
They shall ever, looking backward, give you payment of their debt? 

—N. \\ Sun. 

All Her Own. 

"Are you the society editor?" asked the large woman. 

"No, madam," said the one addressed; "I am only the court 

"Really, I am surprised! But perhaps you will do. Your 
paper said in the account of the affair at my house that floral 
decorations 'lent beauty to the scene.' I wish you would have 
your paper state that the floral beauty was not lent. Everything 
was paid for." 

The Scribe. 

A Qcar Case. 

The Victim: 'I'm troubled with cold feet, doctor. What do 
you suppose is the cause?" 

T/z(; Doc/or.- "Cold weather, sir; cold weather. Two dollars, 


— The Medico. 

Good Reason. 

A portly, well-dressed gentleman, whose specialty was mort- 
gages, rose to address the meeting of the unemployed. He said: 
"The chief cause of distress in this country is a lack of frugality 
and thrift. You talk of the wolf at the door. He never comes to 
my door." "I s'pose he's afraid of getting skinned," shouted 
some irreverent person in the audience; and the portly gentle- 
man sat down. 

— The Skinner. 

XOrillen For UalK-s and isal*^. ^ytWRi^hls "Resar-Omd. 

4t^ *Pinehur^i, ^ 

"By Mrs. M. M. "BucKner, 

Let this be a warning to you all, don't be too suspicious of 
strangers. I dare say, that old Jew is as harmless as the cat. 
When a man tramps over this rough country road with a pack on 
his back, he feels more like sleeping at night than breaking into a 
house. The only harm he would do, would be to cheat you a 
little if you bought some of his goods. 

Great was the surprise and delight of the children next morn- 
ing when Mr. Land came in to breakfast with Trotty on his shoulder. 

Bertie had slept unusually late and decided, as he hurriedly 
dressed, to say nothing of the night's adventure till the elders 
had told about it, for the boy still though shudderingly of the 
terrible deed that came so near being committed. 

Mrs. Hunter looked pale and felt that she had never known 
before how much she thought of her brother-in-law. 

Mrs. Land regarded him with the greatest tenderness and 
could not hear of the affair without tears. 

"He's come for his breakfus," said Hesper in a loud whisper 
and Mrs. Hunter piled a plate high and sent to him as he sat on 
the kitchen steps. 

Mr. Land declared, as he lit his cigar, that they all ought to 
buy something from the poor fellow, that they really owed it to 
him for the unjust suspicions entertained against him, but the 
ladies declined to see him or to buy anything, seeming to think 
that in some way, he was the indirect cause of the fright of the 
last night, which, to say the least, was as unjust as it was unreas- 

"The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year." 

It was a gloomy day in early Autumn with just a hint in the 
winds that swayed the slightly turning trees, that the long bright 
days were growing shorter, that the glad summer was drawing to a 


The fragrance of the ever blooming white rose unmingled 
with thta of any other flower, was wafted in the open windows, 
while from over the hills came the faint tinkle of cow-bells, the 
only sound that broke the stillness save the soft music made by 
the rustling leaves. 

A little sadness will creep into the lightest heart when Autumn 
approaches and whispers that beautiful Summer must pass away. 

Even though the sheaves are in abundance, the piles of sweet- 
smelling hay heaped high, the barns well stored with golden grain, 
the whole harvest. yield in the greatest plenty — the flowers that 
filled the garden with beauty and sweetness must fade and die, 
the trees that made such grateful shade must exchange their 
green for brown and then become bare and skeleton-like — the 
joyous notes of the birds will be hushed and the wild winds will 
moan and shriek over the desolate waste. 

The children with Mrs. Hunter had gone to church, Mrs. 
Land preferring to remain at home and enjoy the unusual luxury 
of perfect quiet which the absence of the young people made 

Sitting by the open window with the Bible in her lap Mrs. 
Land thought she would read, but her eyes would stray to the 
fair picture Nature had penciled, the purple hills beyond the wall 
of pines standing like soldiers drawn up in line, the maples and 
poplars growing nearer the house beginning to don their livery of 
red and gold most conspicuously among the undergrowth of trees 
of all shades of green. 

Her thoughts would wander to her absent husband. How 
pleasant it would be if he could be there to enjoy that blessed 
calm Sabbath with her! 

"Poor fellow," she murmured, "I know he is lonely today, 
for he says he can stand our absence very well when he is at work 
but on Sundays he misses us so much till he dreads to see the day 

"Taking a letter from her pocket she read it again for the fourth 
time since getting it the evening before, smiling at some of his 
funny remarks, but her eyes grew dim with tears when he wrote 
of the lonliness of his house becoming almost unendurable and 
plead for an early return home. 

"Yes," she thought, "We must go soon, just as soon as we 
can get ready, though I love to stay here in this heaven of rest." 


She could hardly realize that the summer was gone but thought 
with a sigh that it had probably been long enough to her husband, 
who had so unselfishly remained at home alone that his family 
might be away from the hot dusty city during the warm weather; 
his recreation being limited to the brief infrequent visits when he 
could snatch a day or two from his business. 

"What is it, Billy," as the boy suddenly appeared at the 
door, his bare feet having made so little noise that in her abstrac- 
tion she had not noticed it. 

"Mr. Bode Haly jist fotch dis fur yer ma'am," holding out a 
yellow envelope. 

A telegram! Heaven be merciful. Surely nothing could 
have happened to her husband. 

With trembling hands she took the ominous message. " Come 
home, I'm a little sick. Fred." 

"Yes, I might have known that something was wrong. I've 
been thinking about poor Fred all day. I know he is very sick or 
he would never have sent for me. He always makes so light of any 
illness he has. How I wish I could go to him at once .How can 
I wait till that train leaves this evening!" and she wrung her hands 

When the children with their aunt came in from church, she 
had almost completed her preparations for an immediate departure. 

"Yes Floy, certainly, you must let the children remain with 
me till Fred is better" said Mrs. Hunter when Mrs. Land spoke 
tearfully of leaving them at Pinehurst. "You know they'll be 
safe and happy here and ^^ou'll be able to give your whole attention 
to Fred. Poor boy, I trust his illness is nothing serious. We'll 
hope for the best anyway, so don't worry dear, I don't doubt that 
he is ill, but he knows that it is nearly time for you to return home 
and probably is quite pleased to have an excuse to hasten your 
departure, for of course the nearer the time comes the more im- 
patient he grows." 

Thus chatted the kind hearted lady, anxious to do all in her 
power to comfort her distressed sister-in-law. 

The merry laughter that filled the house on the arrival of 
the children was hushed when the news reached them, and very 
subdued they looked as they took their places at the dinner table. 
Mrs. Land refused to leave her room and it was only after much 


coaxing that she would drink the cup of tea carried to her by Mrs. 

Now isn't this too sad an ending to our jolly summer," said 
Bertie. "Oh I do hope Uncle Fred will soon be well again. 

It doesn't seem right for him to be ill" replied May. "I 
wish mamma would let me go with her. Just suppose papa was 
to die," and Lil laid down her fork and put her handkerchief to 
her eyes. 

Jack and Em were too much overcome with the serious aspect 
of the occasion to make any comments and for once kept silent. 

Mrs. Hunter was right about her brother-in-law's illness being 
nothing serious, for when his wife rushed up to his room he met 
her with a laugh, but looked repentant when he found how anxious 
she had been; however, she was too glad to find him so slightly 
indisposed, to refuse his apology for shortening her stay in the 

"You see Floy," he explained, "I haven't been ill enough to 
go to bed, but I didn't know when I would have to give up and 
thought it best to have you here in time to nurse me back to health. 
I'm sorry though, little wife, that you were so upset by that tele- 
gram. Remember this now, and shake off that, idea you have 
that a telegram necessarily means bad news every time." 

A few weeks after Mrs. Land's return to the city the children 
followed, accompanied by Meg, who, according to a previous 
arrangement, was to stay with the Land's while attending college. 


^ticce^sftil "Blind Veople. 

In 1834, in the mountains of Franklin County, Tenenssee, 
there was bom one Joseph Campbell. Before a memory was bom 
within the mind of the little fellow, the power of sight faded from 
his eyes. The forms and faces of dear ones, the thousand joys 
of sunlight, and the glory and wonder of the stars were to him but 
a dim and tantalizing memory. 

At that time, schools or special instmction for the blind, 
were very few, and so Joseph lived his lonesome little life, beneath 
the burden of endless and empty hours. But when the lad was 
ten years old, news made its way over the mountains to the Camp- 
bell home, that a school for the bind was soon to be established 
at Nashville, and that ten pupils would be received. 

Again and again, it is said, Joseph's father journeyed to the 
distant village, to make arrangements for the reception of his 
boy at the school : but each time his courage failed. The thought 
of sending "little Joe" so far out into the darkness and among 
strangers was too much for him. 

But the mother was braver — as mothers often are, in affairs 
of the heart. It was just the opportunity for which she had been 
praying, and, cost what it might, so long as she could scrape the 
money together, her boy should go to school. 

Then a sewing-bee was held, at which sundry small shirts, 
trousers, and other simple necessities were made for Joseph; and 
an old gentleman who was going to Nashville, offered to "take 
him along." What had seemed a far-off dream, was now rapidly 
approaching actuality. The moming of departure came, and the 
father rode a "piece" by the side of the carriage; but when he 
slowly turned back, the lad's small stock of courage melted, and 
he eamestly hoped he would be too late, or that something would 
happen to send him home again. 

Something did happen, but not what he had wished or ex- 
pected. Soon after his arrival at the school, a teacher sat down 
beside him and placed the New Testament, in embossed letters, 


in his hands. A sense of pleasure pervaded his being, and half- 
unconsciously to himself a great ambition was born within his 
soul. Lovingly the teacher helped him to feel out the letters, and 
in three-quarters of an hour he had learned the entire alphabet. 

Soon the other students began to study music. "Little Joe" 
was charmed with the new sensation. He asked to be taught to 
play the piano, but was gently told that he could not distinguish 
one tone from another. Then the kind-hearted teacher innocently 
asked him if he wouldn't like to learn basket-making, instead. 

Joseph's reply to that question is not recorded, but soon after 
that, he secretly hired — probably with some trinket — another boy 
to give him music lessons. The diminutive teacher thus engaged 
could not impart much of a technical knowledge of the science to 
his comrade, but Joseph "took to practicing" just the same and 
soon learned to reproduce, in his own way, the pieces the other 
boys played. 

One day a teacher, himself blind, happening to enter the 
room where Joseph was practicing, asked, "Who is that, playing 
the new lesson so well?" And when he learned that it was the 
boy who, a few weeks before, could "not distinguish one tone from 
another," his astonishment was beyond measure. Fifteen months 
from that time, Joseph Campbell won first prize for piano-forte 

The school could afford but one piano at that time, and he 
used to rise at dawn and practise until seven o'clock, in order that 
he might have extra time at the instrument. The winter of 1845 
was intensely cold, and for some reason the music-room could not 
be heated. But that did not deter young Campbell. After prac- 
ticing as long as he could stand it, he would rush to the playground, 
run around it ten times — which made one mile — and resolutely 
return to his work. 

For five years he studied at the school for the blind. He had 
developed university aspirations, but had no money to pay his 
way through college. A happy thought! He would teach music. 
Soon two young lady pupils were secured. 

One of them appeared for her first lesson. She seated herself 
at the piano — and waited. Finally she said, "What shall I do?" 
And young Campbell, sitting there in a cold sweat, knew with 
almost overpowering realization, that he was indeed blind, remem- 
bered that he played entirely by ear, knowing nothing of written 


music, and knew that he could not teach the girl waiting for her 
first directions. 

Hastily manufacturing some excuse, he postponed the lesson, 
and almost in despair, sought refuge in his room. But a will like 
his could not be entirely crushed. He remembered an English 
musician whom he had met, who had studied under Mendelssohn 
and Moscheles. The Englishman was gruff and unsympathetic, 
but consented to give him a lesson on the following day. This 
lesson, and others as they came, Joseph repeated to his own pupils, 
who never suspected that he did not know all about the science 
of music. 

A year later he became teacher of music in the Tennessee 
State Institute for the Blind. Later he took his course of Study 
at the University of Nashville, and then, wishing to study further, 
at Harvard. Here he was married. His wife's health failed, and 
then he was threatened with consumption. For some years he 
lived under the very shadow of Failure and Disappointment. 
Part of the time he taught in the Institute for the Blind at South 
Boston, Mass. 

In March, 1872, in a small rented house in London, he opened 
an experimental school for the blind. That institution is, today, 
the Royal Normal College for the Blind, and Dr. Campbell, as 
its founder and president, is known and honored all over the world. 

That is the story of one blind boy. For the secret of his suc- 
cess one does not have to search. The ten-year-old lad who sat 
all day by the roadside, waiting in the dark for the return of his 
little friends from school, and who worked for hours in a cold 
room, mastering a subject his teachers said he never could learn, 
already knew the way to success. It is the way many find hard 
and rough, the way that some- think easy and fair — but ever it 
leads by the high temples of the city of Ambition, through the 
toiling streets of Energy and on to the rugged land where dwells 
the spirit of clear-eyed Bravery. 


Public Opinion and Current Comments 

Mr. Bryan has returned home, but is still very much at sea. — 
Washtngjon Post. 

Senator Gorman seems to have a little Panama secession on 
his own hands in the Maryland Legislature. — New York Tribune. 

If it keeps jumping, the East Indians may have to give it up, 
but the "400" will doubtless adopt calico; it will be sufficiently 
costly. — Columbia State. 

It is stated that J. P. Morgan's favorite reading is " Ali Baba." 
We should think that "To Have and To Hold" would be more to 
his taste. — Washington Post. 

A Chicago physician declares doctors are useless in pneumonia 
cases, however, pneumonia cases will probably remain useful to 
doctors . — MilwaukeeSentinel. 

A certain Western politician is now described as "coy." 
Down this way some of them might be accurately described as 
decoy. — Florida Times Union. 

The Army and Navy Register has coined a good phrase for 
ae sudden elevation in the army of Surgeon Wood and Captain 
Mills. "Promotion by emotion" will stick. — New York World. 

A woman burglar has just been caught in New York, but 
some folks will go right along talking about the way in which 
women are unable to obtain entrance into gainful occupations. — 
Newark News. 

A Washington correspondent who has attended the Church in 
which President Roosevelt is a regular worshiper says: "He sings 
loud and heartily the old-time hymns, but I am inclined to think 
that he is a better President than he is a singer." Puzzle: To find 
out just how much of a singer the President really is. — Rochester 
Union and Advertiser . 

There are 250 Filipino students in American colleges. 


Cuba's tobacco exports for 1903 amounted to 303,116 bales 
of leaf tobacco, 208,608,450 cigars and 14,341,445 packages of 


There are 500,000 lepers in India. They live lives of absolute 
loneliness, being considered unclean outcasts by their own people. 
Their religion places them under a curse. 

The Crown Princess of Denmark is the tallest and richest 
woman of her rank in Europe. The exact measure of her financial 
figure is not known, but her physical figure measures six feet. 

Wages in Russian factories are infinitesimal. The rate is 
two cents an hour and upward. There are tens of thousands 
who do not receive over thirty cents a day for ten hours' or more 

Java is only a little larger than New York, but at the time of 
its last census it had a population of 28,745,698. If the United 
States were populated as densely it would have 1,688,000,000 

Mr. Sanger, the famous zoologist, was once asked by a bore: 
" What steps would you incline to take in the event of yonder 
tiger effecting his liberty?" "Very long ones," replied the laconic 

Congressman Hardwick, of Georgia, is the Thom Thumb of the 
House of Representatives. He is only an inch over five feet in 
height and weighs but 107 pounds. When seated in the house 
his toes barely touch the floor. 

German Southwest Africa, where an outbreak of the natives 
is now in progress, is a little larger than Texas. There are only 
about 2,500 whites in the territory, but the rebellious natives are 
believed to number 60,000. 

The Tibetans are as black as coal-heavers with dirt, and huddle 
together with the yaks and mules. The women are equally dirty, 
and go about with faces like blotchy India-rubber. They wear a 
hooplike headdress, ornamented with alternate turquoise and ruby- 
colored stones. 

Wages in Northern Italy are: Laborers, forty to fifty cents; 
bricklayers, eighty cents to one dollar; stone cutters and carpenters, 
sixty to seventy cents; painters and frescoers, forty to fifty cents; 
experts, sixty to seventy-five cents a day. The Italian carpenter 
must regard his fellow craftsman in this country, earning $4.50 a 
day, much as the American carpenter regards the average banker. 


Camel-back riding is sport for the camel, rather than for the 
person on his back. Here is how Lord Kitchener describes it: 
"You know the game of cup and ball? You have a ball and a 
cup and you throw the ball in the air and try to catch it in the cup, 
then bounce it up and try to catch it again. Well, when you ride 
a camel the brute plays cup and ball with you, missing you nearly 
every time." 

Russia is by no means a heaven for editors. During last year 
eighty three papers were suspended, and twenty-six others were 
forbidden to accept advertisements. Two hundred and fifty-nine 
editors were given their choice between ceasing their comments on 
public questions and spending varying periods as the Government's 
guest in Siberia. The only safe journalistic position is that of the 
press censor. 


Colonel Younghusband, who is in charge of the English ex- 
pedition in Tibet, has been receiving warnings at all stages of his 
progress that he is an undesirable visitor in the land of the Great 
Lamas. These warnings have been increasing in serious import. 
Now an ultimaturm has been delivered Colonel Younghusband by 
Depon-Lama, one of the five Great Lamas of Tibet. The British 
leader is told that if he does not turn back disaster will overtake 

The Tibetans are preparing to carry out the threat contained 
in this ultimatum. Reinforcements of infantry and cavalry from 
Lhassa and Shigatse, the western capital, have arrived at the 
Tibetan camp. When the Tibetan force is sufficiently strong it is 
supposed it will fall upon the British camp at Tuna. Colonel 
Younghusband's expedition, however, has no intention of with- 
drawing. It will wait for an official representative from the Dalai- 
Lama at Lhassa. 

The real purpose which prompted the sending of this expedi- 
tion into Tibet is puzzling to us in America. It may be that the 
purpose is the very simple one of frightening the Dalai-Lama 
into opening the Chumbi Valley to British trade, according to the 
treaty of 1893. And it may be, that the expedition is a political 
move against Russia. 

The Panama Canal has been so much in the public mind as an 
issue that we have almost forgotten it as an engineering operation 


now in progress. It is estimated that two-fifths of the excavation 
has been completed. Work is now going on under the supervision 
of the French company, chiefly where the canal cuts through the 
mountain ridge of the isthmus. The construction of the canal 
offers no difficult problem to be solved by engineers. The chief 
problem is the construction of a great dam which is to create a 
lake fifty-two feet above the sea-level, covering an area of 13,585 

The course of a vessel from the Atlantic side through the 
canal, when it is completed, will be as follows: It will proceed 
fourteen miles at sea level. It will then be lifted by locks to the 
lake formed by the dam. After twenty-one miles in the lake, the 
vessel will be dropped by locks into a strip of canal about a mile 
and a third long. At the end of this it will be lowered about 
thirty feet to the level of the Pacific. A run through a few more 
miles of canal brings the vessel out upon the ocean. 

The Emperor of the plucky little Japanese Empire has by 
recent events been thrust to the very forefront of publicity. Inter- 
est in him is all the greater for the reason that less is popularly 
known of him than of the Czar of Russia. 


Mutsuhito, the 121st emperor of Japan, was born Nov. 3, 1852. 
He succeeded his father, Feb. 13, 1867, at the age of fourteen, and 
his coronation took place Oct. 13, 1868. By the constituion, 
which was promulgated in 1889, the emperor was made the supreme 
head of the state. The appearance and character of the Mikado 
are thus described by the Commercial Advertiser of New York: 
"The Emperor is rather tall for his race, standing five feet eight 
inches. He has fine open features and a high forehead, and his 
bearing has the proper royal dignity. In the earlier years of his 
monarchy the Emperor had constant trials due to the insurrections 
fomented by rival factions, through which his most trusted min- 
isters were lost to him; one fell by the sword of the assassin, one 
died a natural death, and in two cases insubordination was fol- 
lowed in the end by actual rebellion. He was still very young 
when called from the seclusion of the Kioto Palace to take an 
active share in the conduct of the public affairs of a realm torn 
asunder by the violence of contending parties and conflicting inter- 
ests. But his eamestneess of purpose and steadfast solicitude for 



the ultimate good of his subjects carried him through all difficulties. 
By the wisdom and practical sagacity which he has displayed at 
a crises in the life of the nation he has won respect not only from 
his own people but in countries far afield. If he had been loyally 
supported in his efforts by the counsel of able ministers, it is due to 
his personal selection, and not to the mere accident of political 
supremacy, that he is surrounded by men of the greatest ability 
and discretion, men who would have been regarded under any 
circumstances as possessing the highest qualities of statesmanship 
and the loftiest patriotism. " 

i ZJe are makery ofexcef/enf Cu^ ancC 

O^ y^^-.,, — ^/'*/*' /^/ Vll====^ EVENINO STAR BUILDING, 



I0I2 F Street, N. W. 

A choice selection of HIGH GRADE goods in a large variety ax 
low prices consistent with NEW and first class articles. 


stock: Broker, 

S29 Se-Venih Street J^. XtJ, (Corner r.) 

Qxiick Service. Margin 1 per cent. 

T^lcpbnitB gaat 72E. Priva.te office for latdies. 

Hadsomesi tOarerooms in W g^ htng-ton^ 

1324»1326 F Street. 




13th & Water Sts. S. W. 
1515 7th N. "W. 14th & D S W 

'Phone Main 712, 

Chapel for Funeral Services. 

Phone West 15 

2008 Pa. Av. N . W. Washington, D . C. 

(Sails promptTg attended t0 dag or night. 

W. B. MOSES & 

Furniture, Carpets, 
. . Upholsteries & 
Wall Papers . . 

Cor. nth and F Sts. N. W. 


420 to 426 7th St., 

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[Columbia Polytechnic Institute for the Blind, 

1808 H STREET, N. W. 


RKV. H. N. COUDEN. President. 


F. E. CLEAVEJ>A.ND. Secretary 

One Dollar at Year, - - Ten Cents a Copy. 


(Contents for flDarcb 1904. 

e -' 


Trip i^ round the Worjd"^, '^"^', ' ' '""I 1 

Four Out Of Five, Who Serve The King- 

(A Serial Story) Continued Edward Franklin 6 

The Green Sign Post (A Short Story) 17 

The Counsel for the Defense (A Short Story) • 24 

Wit and Humor 31 

Fashions' Fancies 33 

Theatrical Comment 38 

Literary Findings 41 

Catching a Flat (A Short Story) 43 

Extracts From An Address By Miss Helen Kellar 51 

The Deadly Torpedo .55 

People You Know 56 

Sunday On The Form (Poem) 59 

Good Advice to the South From the Washington Star. 60 





^alhe anb tTalee. 

Vol. VII. March, 1904 No. VI 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and their Equally 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 

The Oasis of Tugguit, which was our first resting place, contains four 
hundred thousand date palms, and a considerable area is occupied by 
gardens. These gardens produce three crops a year of pumpkins, mel- 
ons, carrots, beets, beans, lentiles, and similar products of the soil. 
Great attention is given to their cultivation, and the abundance of the 
never-failing water with which the place is supplied makes the gardens 
a sure reliance for their owners. 

The French government talks about pushing the railway further into 
the desert and if this should be done it will not be many years before it 
reaches Tugguit; then there will be a great demand for the dates of the 
Sahara, which are among the best in the world. 

The different varieties of inhabitants in Tuggujt have their own par- 
ticulur quarters in the city. There is an Arab quarter, a French quar- 
ter, and a Negro quarter, and some of these are again subdivided. 
There is a large colony of Hebrews which has been there for hundreds of 
years; its members are famous throughout the Sahara as the best jewelers 
and workers of gold and silver. We visited their work-shops and found 
them so numerous as to occupy two or three streets. 

Their mode of working is very primitive, and in view of the tools they 
use, the products they turn out are really marvelous. Tugguit has a 
population of about seven thousand natives, but only a few foreio-ners 
exclusive of the military garrison which usually consists of two hnudred 
men. The officres are almost invaribally French, and most of them have 
one or two French soldiers as personal servants. 

We visited the principal mosques of Tuggurt, which were twenty in all, 
some of them well preserved, and some in a very ruinous condition. "* 

After a few days of rest and refreshment, we at once got under way. 
We made about twenty miles the first day over shifting sands, and at our 
first camp our horses were so much fresher that we were much pleased 


that we had thought of dividing the burden of carrying the members of 
our party by shifting to the backs of the camels a good part of the way 

One incident of the day's journey was the encountering of a desert ty- 
phoon, or funnel-shaped pillar of sand caused by a violent whirlwind. 

These are sometimes as dangerous as typhoons at sea. It approach 
ed us rapidly from the south, but just as we began to feel the outer edge 
of the whirlwind, we discharged our weapons at it, and were gratified 
to see that its course was changed, so that it swept by us leaving us un- 

That night we had a novel supper. A small band of Arabs brought 
in five ostrich eggs, eacli one of which was equal to about two dozen hens 
eggs. They were purchased by the doctor, who gave them out to the par- 
ty, reserving one for our own use. The process of cooking the egg was 
by standing it on end in the fire and breaking the upper portion of the 
shell so that a stick could be inserted for stirring the contents while the 
cooking process was going on. 

The egg proved very palatalbe, and our Arab guide described an ostrich 
hunt in which he had once participated, which was much like the round 
ing up of wild cattle on the plains. The birds becoming frightened, 

would run from one side of the circle to the other and back, until they 
were exhausted, when the hunters closed in on them, and easily de- 
spatched them. 

When whe reached Waregla, the last oasis in northern Africa, we were 
most hospitably received by the Agha, or ruler. 

A letter of introduction which the doctor had brought from Bishra, 
showed very conclusively the predomintaing influence of the French. 

The Agha, Sibi Obeir, is a handsome Arab fully six feet high, with a 
dark complexion oval face, and a prominent nose slightly hooked, slender 
Angers, dark, but not too heavy beard, trimmed to a point, and an ex- 
pression of marked dignity and serenity. 

After the audience granted us, and we had each partaken of coflfe and 
tobacco, we were dismissed with much ceremony. 

A guard awaited us at the outer door of the palace, and conducted us 
to a large roomy apartment in another building, which when we enter- 
ed, was bare of furniture but it did not long remain so, as the Agha 
sent us a thick carpet to spread on the floor, and a large bundle of 
rugs on which we might recline. 

Just as we finished our toilet preparations we received a bountiful sup- 
ply of dates and camels mlilk, which the Agha sent to us. Our guide told 
us that we would receive something more shortly, and advised us to eat 
lightly of the proffered danties. We acted upon his advice, and after par- 
taking of the articles, gave the remainder to our followers by whom it was 
quickly dispatched. Less than an hour later two Arabs appeared bearing 
on their shoulders the carcass of a sheep spitted on a long pole; it had 
been roasted in its skin, or rather, baked in hot ashes. We squatted on 
the floor of our room, two on one side of the sheep, and three on the 
other ,the Arab holding the carcase between us. Then a servant of the 


Ag'ha who accompanied them, proceeded to cut off morsels, or rather, 
tear them off with his fing-ers after slicing the carcass with his knife. 
When he came upon a particularly choicce bit he put it into our mouths 
with his fingers; possibly our hunger had something to do with it, but alt 
agreed that we had never tasted a nicer piece of mutton, not excepting 
even the Southdown of England or the famous mutton of Kentucky. 

After the sheep we were served with liver skivered on sticks and cook- 
ed over a fire. No wine or drink of any kind was served us; of course, 
we didn't expect wine when it was forbidden by the Koran to all good 
Moslems, and we now regretted having given all the camels milk to our 

In about half an hour after the arrival of the sheep there came another 
course of our dinner. This was a dish of kouskous which is generally 

abbreviated to kouskus. Kouskous is the principal food of the natives of 
Algeria, and when well cooked is an excellent dish, being palatable as 
well as nourishing. It is made of barley or wheat meal coarsely ground; 
the grinding being done by the women of the household. When a dish of 
kouskous is required the meal is placed in a shallow pan about two feet 
in diameter, and a little milk or water is poured over it, and it is allowed 
to soak a little while, and then the meal is rubbed into little pellets 
and slowly steamed for two or three hours, and when the steaming is co- 
mpleted the casual observer might supppose that he was looking at a 
dish of boiled rice. 

In this condition it is eaten by the poorer natives after a little salt is 
sprinkled on it. Those who can afford to do so mix dates, raisins, or 
other fruit of any kind with the steamed meal, and on the top of the 
whole pour a quantity of milk or rich broth, if they have broth to pour 
over it. The natural conclusion is that they have the meat from which 

it was made. If*so, the meat whether mutton or fowl is laid on top of 
the dish and the guests pull off morsels of it while they eat. Bear in mi 
nd that no spoons knives or forks are used. The party sit on the floor 

around the bowl and eat with their fingers. If you want to realize the 

force of the adge that "fingers were made before forks," you can do so 
by eating an Arab dinner Sometimes the meat is cut or torn into small 
pieces and mixed in with the other materials This is not, however, the 
regular Arab style, the dish in that case resembling more nearly a Tur- 
kish pilauf than the Arab kouskous. 

After the kouskous came coffee and it was the best cup of coffee we had 
seen since leaving Tugguart. The Agha evidently knew what good living 
was from an Arabic point of view. 

Our next stopping place not counting our nightly encampment, was 
on the banks of the famous lake Chad which lies about fourteen degrees 
north of he equator. 

We are now ont of the desert and our animals are feasting on the verdure 
which every where abounds. The country round about is teeming with 
life, and so are the waters of the lake. 

Lake Chad is one hundred and thirty miles long aud its broadest part 
is nearly one hundred miles wide 


There are many islands in the lake all of which are inhabited by a 
distinctly different race from those inhabiting the shores. 

Here the hippotamus or river horse is to be found in great numbers, 
and our native guide led us to a place on the shore where the wild eleph 
ants came down to drink, and we witnessed a herd of these great animals 
as they marched in single file along a well worn path to the water 

We were compelled to observe the strictest silence in our hiding place 
for there were a number of baby elephants in the procession, and had we 
been discovered, the female elephants, fearing for their young, would 
have set upon us. 

Crocodiles are numerous in Lake Chad, and are often seen sunning 
them selves upon the sandy banks. 

The natives capture them by digging a deep pit, in the bottom of which 
a stake is driven, to which a live kid is tied. This pit is then covered over 
and concealed by branches. The crocodiles, hearing the bleating of the 
kid, make for the place, and soon find themselves trapped. 

Crocodile steak is relished by the natives, but none of our party were 
able to eat it, on account of the strong musk flavor. 

Kano is a trading and manufacuring center, and is the largest place we 
have as yet seen in the interior of Africa, and has a popultaion of from 
thirty to forty thousand. Great caravans of more than a thousnad camels 
are frequenly seen arriving or leaving. It is in fact the headquarters for 
desert commerce. 

Cotton and silk fabrics manufactured and dyed in striking colors is the 
principal product. 

Our stock of presents was here drawn upon by the governor and his 
lord of the treasury, much more largely than pleased us for not content 
with our voluntary gifts, the governor insisted on seeing what we had, help 
ig himelf. 

Our stay in Kano was short and we were soon on our way to Timbuctoo 
which is a walled town of about sixteen thousand inhabitants, six mil- 
from the river Niger. It is in many respects like Kano, although there is 
less manufacturing and a much greater variety of European goods dis- 
played in the great square, or marketplace. 

White men are looked upon with grave supicion. We were met outside 
by the brother of the governor, who demanded to see what presents we had 
brought his excellency. 

We were escourted f^ rough the streets of the city, under guard, paid 
our respects to the governor, whom we found as greedy for presents as the 
governor of^Kano. 

Our lodging was outside the walls, in a building which we had to clear 
before it was habitable. 

There was little of interest at Timbuctoo, that we had not seen in other 
towns. A mixed population of Arabs and negros, a high tower on the 
crest of a hill around which the city is built, narrow streets, 

and a few mosques, wh'ch we were not permitted to inspect, made up the 
principal features of the town. 



We left Timbuctoo with as great haste as possible althogh we were com- 
pelled to bribe the brother of the governor with more presents to obtain 
that august personage's consent to our resuming our journey, which took 
us to the banks of the Niger and thence down the river, at the mouth of 
which we connected with an outgoing steamer, after disposing of our cam 
Ind horees , which we had brought with us on a great flat boat purch- 
ased for the river journey. Glad indeed were we, when we reached 
the decks of the steamer and felt that we were once more within the bounds 
of civilization, law and orden 

Four out of Five, 

Who Serve The King* 

^y Edbvard FranKJin. 

All 'Righij "Rejtr-Oed. 


As Ergonsorat and the Czar reached the sidewalk, the latter 
hailed a droskie, and they were driven rapidly to the prison where 
the five Nihilists were confined. Inquiry being made for the cap- 
tain of the guard, they were shown into his apartment and told to 
await his pleasure, as he was then engaged. They had no sooner 
taken their seats than they overheard the voice of a woman in an 
adjoining room, pleading and beseeching for permission to have an 
interview with her brother. 

The reply came stern and decided, — "My orders are to allow 
no one to interview the prisoners," — and a moment later the door 
opened, and the young girl, her fair face stained with tears, and ex- 
pressing unutterable despair, came out and would have passed on 
through the room and out into the street, but as her hand was on 
the knob of the outer door, Ergonsorat's companion spoke to the 
captain of the guard, saying, " I would have speech with that young 
woman." The tone of authority arrested the steps of the young 
woman, and the captain; the latter turning with a look of annoy- 
ance and surprise, inquired. 

" For what purpose? " 

"That is no concern of yours sir! It is sufficient that I wish 
to speak to her' " saying which the Czar handed him the note he had 
written before leaving the palace which read : 

"The bearer of this is acting under my orders; obey him as 
you would me. — Alexander." 

The moment the captain saw the seal of the Czar, his manner 
underwent a sudden change, and bowing obsequiously he bade the 
young woman remain. 

"Leave us alone and see that there are no eavesdroppers," 
commanded the Czar. 

Instantly the captain left the apartment, giving orders to the 
guard of the outer door to occupy another post, and allow no one 
to enter. 


" Be seated, madam," said the Czar, "and tell us your errand 
here. " 

The look upon the girl's face was replaced by one more hope- 
ful. Turning, she dropped upon her knees in front of the Czar 
exclaiming, "Oh, sir! I beseech you to let me see my brother, my 
only brother, before he is parted from me forever. " 

The Czar, in a kindly voice bade her arise, and be seated, say- 
ing, "You shall see your brother, and it shall be for him to say 
whether you shall be parted from him forever. " 

Her amazement and sudden joy for a moment overcame her, 
but only for a moment. 

"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed, "whoever you are, our mother and 
father in Heaven will bless you for those words. He is only a boy, 
and whatever he may have done under the influence of others, I can 
assure you, sir, that his life has been blameless heretofore." 

"I observe that though you speak our language well, you are 
not a Russian." 

"No, sir! my brother and I are of Italian parents, though the 
most of our life has been spent in St. Petersburg. We are the 
children of Giovanni Francesca. " 

"What, the painter? " said the Czar. 

"Oh, sir, did you know my father?" 

"Yes, my child, I knew him well, and it pains me much to 
think that a son of Giovanni Francesca should be found plotting 
against the life of the Czar. 

"Oh, sir, my brother was always gentle and kind, and I cannot 
imagine such a thing as his being in a plot to take the life of the 
Czar. He well knew that my father and the late Czar were the 
best of friends and that we owed everything to his generosity and 
patronage. After mother and father's death I pled with my 
brother to go back to Italy with me where our grandparents still 
lived and he promised to do so just as soon as he had finished his 
studies in the University; and he was to have graduated this very 
year. Oh, sir, I am sure some one has made a great mistake, for 
I never heard him speak otherwise than sorrowfully of the assassina- 
tion of Alexander II. " 

"Cease your weeping my child; I feel confident we shall find 
that he is not a hardened Nihilist, but an impetuous boy who 
has allowed himself to be influenced by older heads, and has got 
into bad company. I promise you to save him if I can, so please 
go into the adjoining room and remain there until after I have had 
an interview with him. " 

Saying which, the Czar requested Ergonsorat to call the captain 
of the guard, and when the latter entered he was directed to sum- 
mon the governor of the prison, who soon made his appearance. 

After the Czar had shown him the note bearing his own sig- 
nature and seal, the governor replied; 


"M. Nicholivicli, I await your orders." 

A smile of satisfaction appeared on the face of the Czar as he 
was thus addressed. Surely, if so shrewd a man as the governor . 
of the prison was so readily imposed upon by his disguise, there 
was little chance of its being penetrated by anyone else. 

"I wish to have an interview with one of the five Nihilists 
committed to your charge," said the Czar. "I refer to a young 
Italian whose name is Francesca. " 

The governor bowed and retired. Presently the clank of 
chains was heard, and a handsome youth heavily ironed was 
brought into the room by two prison guards. 

" Remove the irons, " said the Czar. 

A look of surprise came over the faces of the guards, and one 
of them turned to the governor who had just entered the apart, 

"This is most extraordinary, M. Nicholivicli," said the gov- 

"I am executing the orders of the Czar. Is not that sufficient? 
Would you like to read this note once more?" 

The voice and manner of the speaker had assumed such au- 
thority that the governor hastened to apologize, and the guards, 
at a sign from him, removed the irons from the prisoner. 

"Leave him alone with us! " was the Craz's next order, which 
was immediately obeyed. But the clanking of arms and rush of 
feet along the corridors showed that the guards had been hasily 
stationed so as to cover every possible egress. Turning to Senior 
Francesca, he exclaimed. 

,'How comes it that the son of Giovanni Francesca seeks to 
take the life of the Czar?" 

"You assume what has not yet been proven, " proudly replied 
the young man. 

The Czar took from his pocket a paper which had been fur- 
nished him by the chief of the secret service and handed it to the 
young man to read. As his eye glanced over this paper his face 
blanched, but with compressed lips and a resolute look, he returned 
it without comment. 

"Is any further proof required?" querried the Czar. 

"With such proof, why question me?" 

"Have you no desire to live?" 

"Not if my companions are to die. " 

"Suppose that it is the will of the Czar that you all live. It 
so happens, Senior Francesca, that the Czar has been informed as 
fully as you could inform him just now how you five young men 
were induced to place your signatures upon that paper which I 
showed you. Have you not wondered why six arrests were not 
made instead of five? — Oh, I forgot, you probably do not know how 
many of your companions have been apprehended. Would 

talks:and^tales. ^ 

the son of Giovanni Francesca still bear enmity to the Czar if he 
should give back to you the hfe you have forfeited, attaching to 
his clemency but one condition, which is that you take a solemn 
oath that you will immediately leave Russia, never to return and 
that each of your companions be given the same chance to become 
wiser men?" 

For a moment the young man hesitated as though questioning 
his reason whether there was aught dishonorable in accepting his 
life under these conditions. At length he quietly responded. 
" I will take such an oath. '" 

"Very well,', said the Czar. "There is someone in the next 
apartment who desires to speak with you, " saying which, the Czar 
led the way and Ergonsorat heard the exclamation of joy as the 
sister beheld her brother. Thus, one after another, the four other 
Nihilists were examined, until all were seated in the apartment 
occupied by Senior Francesca and his sister. Each in his turn 
had refused to speak any word that might be considered disloyal 
to the others, and, after the last man had passed out of his presence 
the Czar turned to Ergonsorat exclaiming. ^j 

"I would give more to be enthroned in the hearts of such men 
than for all the safeguards which man's ingenuity can invent for 
my protection. Now I ask a service at your hands. Go into that 
room ; tell those men your story and read them your father's letter. 
You can remain with them until I return." Saying which, the 
Czar passed out where he found the governor, who was nervously 
pacing up and down in the corridor. "M. Moszkowski, I am not 
surprised that you are perplexed and troubled at what must seem 
to you inexplicable, and I shall not presume to give the final order 
of release of your prisoners until I have made my report to the 
Czar and brought back to you his ratification of my action. " 

At these words the troubled expression left the face of the gov- 
ernor and, advancing with extended hand, he exclaimed. 

''I must thank you most sincerely for your consideration M. 
Nicholivich. I doubt not your desire to carry out the wishes of the 
Czar, but I confess I feared that his Majesty might not have intend- 
ed quite so much responsibility to rest with a single man. " 

The Czar shook the extended hand of the governor saying, 
" I wonder not, but I will be back within an hour and quiet all your 
apprehensions. " 

-An hour had not passed when he 're-entered the office of the 
jail accompanied by the chief of the secret service, who, saluting 
the governor, placed a sealed package in his hands. Breaking the 
seal, the governor found that it contained a pardon for each of the 
accused, on condition that they each take a solemn oath to leave 
Russia and never return without written permission of the Czar. 

. '-Once more I thank you M. NichoHvich." said M. Moszkow- 
ski, and, bowing, he led the way into the apartment where Ergan- 


sorat and the others were still engaged in conversation. After the 
jailer had read over the pardon and its condition to each, he asked 
them if they were ready to fulfil that condition, and, receiving 
their assent, a Bible was brought in and the oath taken in the usual 
form, the governor taking the precaution to have the form written 
out and signed by each. He then notified them that they were 
at liberty to depart when they chose. All shook hands with the 
Czar, Ergonsorat, and the governor, and passed out, their faces 
beaming with joy at their dehverance. After all had departed, 
the Craz turned to Ergonsorat and handed him a paper. It con- 
tained a formal pardon for all offences and an order restoring to 
him the conficsated estate of his father saying. 

"Permit me, so far as it lies in my power to undo the wrong 
that has been done you and yours. Is it your intention to remain 
in Russia?" 

"I hardly kdow. I have lived years in the past twenty-four 
hours, and I must have time to think. With your Majesty's per- 
mission, I will return to the house of my friend and tomorrow you 
shall receive the result of my interview with these men whom you 
have so generously forgiven; but before I received this paper, I 
had forgiven you with my whole heart and I only wish all my fel- 
low-conutrymen knew their sovereign as I know him." Saying 
which, he bowed and kissed the hand which the Czar had extended 
in parting. 

"M. Ergonsoratkoff , " said he, "when next it is your pleasure 
to wait upon the Czar, you will find him as willing and as ready to 
admit you to his presence as he was to admit the secretary of the 
French Ambassador." 

Surely if any man had undergone a sudden revulsion of feeling, 
Ergonsorat was that man. 


One day as Edward was seated alone in his office, a lady en- 
tered whose voice bespoke a kind and gentle nature, for he had 
already begun to make up his estimate of people by that far more 
sure index to the blind of disposition and character, than is the 
physiogomy to the seeing. 

Although nature writes pretty plainly upon the face the char- 
acteristic traits and lives of persons, the face is far from being a 
sure guide, as is often proven true by the discovery that a trusted 
public servant has been for years unworthy of the trust imposed 
in him. 

Tricks that may be played with the face, are seldom, if ever, 
resorted to by the voice, and Edward had quickly learned to dis- 
tinguish between the frank and candid voice of an honest witness, 
who, either fearlessly, or tremblingly, seeks to speak the truth, 
and the studied voice of a cool and calculating person, who, watch- 
ful and alert though he might be to make his statements tally with 


one another, yet nevertheless fails in disclosing that all essential 
quality of voice' which to those who are entirely dependent upon 
the sense of hearing, marks the dividing line that distinguishes the 
honest man from the rogue. 

"Be seated, madam," said Edward. 

' ' Thank you. I have long wanted to know you Mr. Crawford, 
said the lady. "My name is Mayfair, and I have called to invite 
you to my home tomorrow night to meet a number of blind people 
in whom I am interested. They will all be so glad to meet you, 
and I desire it so very much, I earensetly hope you will find it con- 
venient to be present. 

"We hope to have a real sociable and enjoyable evemng of 

it." ,, ., 

"I shall certainly do myself the honor to be present, ^^ said 
Edward, and I thank you for affording me this opportunity." 

"That is very kind of you, I am sure. I knew you were a 
busy man, and feel that I am more fortunate to find yon disen- 
gaged for that evening. " 

Noticing that Edward was engaged in writing on what appear- 
ed to be a type-writer, with only seven keys, she wondered what 
kind of a machine it could be, and asked him to explain its opera- 
tion to her. 

"This," said Edward, "is a HaU Braille-writer. Three keys 
at the right and left of centre key, operate needles which puncture 
the paper on which I am writing, thereby raising little points, per- 
ceptible to the touch. The centre key is what is known as the 
spacer. I incert the paper between these two rollers on the car- 
riage, this part of the arrangement being in every way similar to 
a type-writer. The carriage moves each time one or more keys 
are pressed and released, just as the carriage of the type-writer 
moves after the pressure of a key. The Braille characters are 
fDrmed by a combination of these little po'nts. Thus, pressmg 
the first key left of the spacer, I raise a point in the upper left hand 
corner of what is known as the Braille-ceU, and produce the letter 
"a." By pressing the first and second keys to the left, and the 
farthest key to the right of the spacer simultaneously, I raise three 
points in the next ceU, which form the letter " b, '■' and so on through 
the alphabet. 

"Thus you see, through tlie inventive genius of Mr. Hall, the 
blind are provided with a complete and satisfactory writing ma- 
chine. It is a great improvement over the old system of makmg 
these points one bv one, with a stylus, through paper laid over the 
old fashioned Braille-tablet." 

"I am delighted to know this Mr. Crawford, and I cannot tell 
you how pleased I am to have met you. " 

"The pleasure is mutual, I am sure," replied Edward, who, 
noticing that she had risen to go, arose and extended his hand. 


The firm and cordial pressure which it received, bsepoke energy, 
or perhaps we should say, the quality of enduring, and patient 
perseverance, not to be discovered in the somewhat diffident and 
retiring manner of this lady who was destined to play a very im- 
portant part in his after life, nor were his first impressions ever 
shaken by years of such close friendship, as comes to those who 
labor earnestly and persistently to second each others efforts in 
the causs of justice and humanity. 

I can give no better description of Mrs. May fair than that 
given by Edward some years after this interview when claims upon 
him had necessitated his residence in the Capital of the nation. 
One day as we were conversing over the events of the past few 
years and this lady's name was mentioned, he exclaimed. "Do 
you know Doctor that whenever I think of Mrs. Mayfair I always 
associate her in my mind with Florence Nightingale, Dorothy Dicks 
and Clara Barton. Unlike any of these in all respects, her charac- 
ter impresses me as embodying the highest and best qualities of 
each. When I think of her entering the abode of misery, want and 
dissipation and rescuing therefrom little bhnd children whose 
little bodies were emaciated and whose infant faces bore the traces 
of the suffering and neglect to which they had been exposed, and 
taking them into her own beautiful and happy home, transform- 
ing them by her love, tenderness and care, into the merry, light- 
hearted, bright children now to be found romping and playing 
about the grounds of the Kindergarten she has founded, with the 
aid and cooperation of others whose interest she has succeeded in 
enlisting, her presence everywhere was welcome as roses plucked 
from a garden fragrent with the morning dew, my ideal of the 
beauty and goodness of woman's mission on this earth is realized. " 
I can add nothing to this tribute which Edward gave to this lady, 
but my knowledge of what she has accomplished gives her a place 
in the galaxy of noble women with whom he associated her. But 
to go back to the social gathering of young blind geople at the home 
of Mrs. Mayfair to which Edward had been invited. How can I 
describe to people to whom blindness is associated with funerial 
rites, awful calamities and misery in its most disheartening as- 
pect the enjoyment of that evening? Well I can do no better 
than to take Edward's own description of it. "Why doctor!" 
he exclaimed, ,'It was one of the jolliest evenings I ever spent. 
Just imagine a room full of bright, witty, annimated voung people 
brim full of fun and laughter, with not the faintest hint that any- 
thing was amiss, and you will get the best picture of that evening 
which I can give. People stay away from institutions for the blind 
exclaiming, "Oh, I can't bear to see the poor things!" but God 
has given these blind children hearts filled with mirth and spirits 
overflowing with annimation They seem really to be like little 
spirits basking in the sunlight of a kind that lights up the'^soul 


and banishes from their hves even those Httle ills and annoyances 
which send the little children who can see, grieving, to their 
mothers for consolation and already their "foster mother" as 
they all call Mrs. Mayfair, is beginning to reap the harvest of her 
unselfish devotion to their interests. There is, however, a great 
shadow, the gloom of which she, and those associated with her 
are endeavoring to dispell. These bright, happy children are all 
looking forward to a glad and useful life, but this good lady knows 
that until philanthropy in this great and progressive nation of 
ours has come into a realization of the truth concerning the pos- 
sibilities for the blind, these children, when they reach manhood 
and womanhood must meet with the same chilling, disheartening 
experience which the graduates of these noble institutions for the 
blind have always met with, just as soon as they cross the thres- 
hold and enter this great busy, selfish world of ours, where even 
the blind are pushed aside and ignored, just as they were nineteen 
hundred years ago by the multitude that followed our Saviour 
on his journey from Jericho to Jerusalem. Their only hope will 
lie in their cry being heard by the followers of the Master, just as 
He, amid all the turmoil and confusion, heard with a compassionate 
ear, the cries of the two blind men standing by the wayside. 


Upon reaching the house of Herr von Oulburg, Ergonsorat 
went immediately to his room to think over the occurrances of 
the day. Could he, now that he and his family had been restored 
to favor, assume the roll of a Russian noble, and perhaps by de- 
grees, lose his horror of the cruelty and injustice so often meted 
out to his fellow countrymen? Was it possible that the restora- 
tion of his estates and the title his father had borne would influ- 
ence him in his estimate of human rights and human wrongs? 
Surely, if he allowed himself to be guided by these incentives of 
self-interest which to so large an extent influenced the conduct and 
action of mankind in general, there would be no question but 
that the wisest course for him to pursue would \)e to get back into 
the garment that he had outgrown and join the ranks of those who 
live and thrive upon the groans and sufferings of the oppressed. 
The bare thought that he could be thus suddenly metamorphosed 
into the thing which but yesterday he had hated with all his soul, 
was repugnant to him. He believed what his father had written 
that Russia with its millions of ignorant and semi-barbarous people 
would in a Democratic or Republican form of government stand 
no chance of bettering their condition so long as an aristocracy, 
holding the wealth and possessing the brain and intelligence of 
the empire was influenced by selfish motives. He now saw that 
it mattered little to Russia what name was given to the form of 
government under which her people groaned, so long as the doc- 
trine of the brotherhood of man and the father hood of God and 


the principles of humanity that prompt the rendering, not the 
exaction of service, found no abiding place in the hearts of those 
who shaped her destiny. 

He recalled what the Czar had said about his being a creature 
of circumstance and he realized fully the folly of which the Nihil- 
ists were guilty in taking the life of Alexander IL, for, if a Czar 
whose heart impulses had always been to elevate his people, had 
been curbed and circumscribed by the untamed selfishness and 
unrestrained desires of a so-called nobility, what could be accom- 
plished by the assassination of such a man? He, Ergonsorat, 
could not remain and play the hypocriet, for his detestation of the 
part played by Zolikoff to serve his own interest was so great that 
he could not think of employing the aid of such duplicity, even 
in the cause of humanity. He longed to rejoin his sisters who 
were in Paris and at the same time he pitied the Czar and his heart 
yearned to aid him; for he now believed him to be wholly sincere 
in his desire to merit the love and confidence of his people. Yes, 
he would do it! He had heard and believed that in Paris there 
was a group of exiled Nihilists who were constantly plotting 
against the life of the Czar. If he could get them to listen to him; 
if they would only allow him to read them his father's letter, 
surely this would be something gained. 

His conversation with Herr von Oulburg on the following 
morning had turned upon the subject of the life and efforts of 
Count Tolstoi to better the condition of peasant life in Russia, 
and the hopelessness of the effort of one man, even with a princely 
fortune at his command, to make any material progress in alleviat- 
ing the sufferings, or steming the tide of the evil and degradation, 
so prevalent in such a swarming, huddled mass of growling creatures 
Herr von Oulburg, taking a volume of Tolstoi's writings from his 
library shelves, read an autobiographical sketch to which Ergon- 
sorat listened with interest. It ran as follows : 

"Let us imagine people of the affluent class (for clearness' 
sake, say a man and a woman, husband and wife, brother and sis- 
ter), who have vividly realized the sin of a luxurious and idle life, 
lived amidst people crushed by work and want. They have left 
the town. If these people have renounced the advantages and 
pleasures of life which town and money gave them, they have done 
so only because they acknowledge men to be brothers — equal be- 
fore their Father. Not equals in ability, or, if you please, in worth ; 
but equals in their rights to live, and to all that life can give. 

"It may be possible to doubt the equality of people when we 
look at adults, each with a different past, but doubt becomes im- 
possible when we see children. Why should this boy have watch- 
ful care and all the assistance knowledge can give to assist his 
physical and mental development, while that other charming child, 
of equal, or better promise, is to become rickety, crippled, or dwarf- 


ed from lack of wilk, and to grow up illiterate, wild, hampered by 
superstitions, a man representing merely so much brute labor- 
power ? 

"Surely, if people have left town life, and have settled, as 
these have, to live in the village, it is only because they, not in 
words only, but in very truth, believe in the brotherhood of man, 
and intend, if not to realize, at least to begin realizing it in their 
lives. And just this attempt to realize it must, is they are sincere, 
inevitably bring them to a terrible position. 

"With their habits (formed from childhood upwards) of order, 
comfort, and especially of cleanliness, they, on moving to the vil- 
lage, after buying or hiring a hut, cleared it of insects, perhaps 
even papered it themselves, and installed some remains, not lux- 
urious but necessary, of their furniture, say an iron bedstead, a 
cupboard, and a writing-table. And so they begin living. At 
first the folks shun them, expecting them, (like other rich people) 
to defend their advantages by force, and therefore do not appraoch 
them with requests and demands. But presently, bit by bit, the 
disposition of the newcomers gets known; they themselves offer 
disinterested services, and the boldest and most impudent of the 
villagers find out practically that these newcomers do not refuse 
to give, and that one can get something out of them. 

"Thereupon, all kinds of demands on them begin to spring 
up, and constantly increase. A process begins comparable to the 
subsidence and running down to a level of the grains in a heap. 
They settle down till there is no longer any heap rising above the 
average level. 

"Besides the begging, natural demands to divide up what 
they have more than others possess make themselves heard, and, 
apart from these demands, the new settlers themselves, being al- 
ways in close touch with the village folk, feel the inevitable neces- 
sity of giving from their superfluity until they have only as much 
left as each one (say as the average man) ought to have; there 
is no possible definition of this 'average' — no way of measuring 
the amount which each one should have; there is no stopping, for 
crying want is always around them, and they have a surplus com- 
pared to this destitution. 

" It seems necessary to keep a glass of milk; but Matrena has 
two unweaned babies who can find no milk in their mother's breast, 
and a two-year-old child which is on the verge of starvation. 
They might keep a pillow and a blanket, so as to sleep as usual 
after a busy day; but a sick man is lying on a coat full of lice, 
and freezes at night, being covered only with bark -matting. They 
would have kept tea and food, but had to give it to some old pil- 
grims who were exhausted. At least it seemed right to keep the 
house clean, but beggar-boys came and were allowed to spend the 


night, and again lice bred, after one had just got rid of those picked 
up during a visit to the sick man. 

"Where and how can one stop? The fact is, no point of stop- 
page exists. Having worked all day, these people return home; 
having no longer a bed or a pillow, they sleep on some straw they 
have collected, and after a supper of bread, they lie down to sleep. 
It is Autumn. Rain is falling, mixed with snow. Some one 
knocks at the door. Should they open it? A man enters wet and 
feverish. What must they do? Let him have the dry straw? 
There is no more dry, so either they must drive away the sick man, 
or let him, wet as he is, lie on the floor, or give him the straw. 

"Where can one draw the line?" 

When Herr von Oulburg had finished reading, he looked into 
the face of Ergonsorat, and saw an expression of bewildered sad- 
ness, akin to weariness. 

"Who is responsible for this picture of wretchedness? From 
whence shall come the Hercules who shall cleanse the Augean 

As Ergonsorat said these words, he was contrasting in his mind, 
the pictures of rural life in that part of the old world that is gov- 
erned by the great Republic of America. The snug farm house, 
the well filled barns, the rosy cheeked, warmly clad children, with 
their joyous shouts as they wended their way to the trim, comfor- 
table school-house, and he seemed to gather, as if by inspiration, 
thoughts which formed themselves into a key that could be used 
in the hands of intelligent, God-fearing people to unlock the doors 
of the prison-house of ignorance, vice and filth, which held these 
wretched creatures fast. 

He saw and understood, that not the will of the Czar could 
change these conditions until such of his people as were above and 
apart from this wretched suffering were ready to concern them- 
selves with the problems to be solved, and cooperate with him in 
their solution, and again he saw that the Nihilists who took the 
life of Alexander IL were as ignorant of the true solution as the 
wild beast that tore and lacerated the hand put forth to succor it. 

To be Continued 


^he Green ^ign To^t, 


The interior of the Boys of the Village Inn looked quite cheerful 
on the wet, cold, and wintry summer's evening of which we write; 
most of the male inhabitants of the httle village of Slowham were there,' 
seated in the bar parlor, and, as was their wont, bemoaning the bad 
prospects of the harvest and the decline of the agricultural industry 
in general. 

''Daddy" Morgan, as he was called, was, of course, present; in 
fact, it would have been a great calamity indeed that could keep " Daddy " 
away from his accustomed seat in the comfortable inn. 

Work and "Daddy" did not agree, and the httle plot of land 
attached to his cottage was sadly neglected— in fact, it would have 
entirely been so this year had not some of the younger men gone over 
one evening and dug it up for him, ready for the old man to put in 
whatever took his fancy, but up to the present even this work had 
proved too much for him, and his ground was still empty. 

After a time the company at the inn began to tire of relating thir 
grievances, and conversation flagged. "I got a paper down from my 
sister in Lunnon this mornin'," said the blacksmith, drawing a well- 
known London weekly paper from his pocket. "They do mighty 
queer things do they Lunnon chaps; here's one 'as as gone and buried 
one 'undred pounds in a field, and who finds it can keep it. Fancy 
that, 'Daddy,' one 'undred golden sovereigns." 

The old man's eyes sparkled. "Gosh," he said, "where's he 
put it?" 

" He don't say that, but I'll read it to you: — 

"Jabez Grant, finding his pursuers close on his heels, suddenly 
determined to get rid of his ill-gotten spoil. Hastily springing over a 
low hedge by the side of the road he found himself in a small plot of 
ground with a cottage not many yards away. Sinking on his knees 
he scratched a hole in the loose earth with his bare hands and deposited 
the hundred pounds in it, then covering it up he sprang hghtly back 
into the road. Before again starting, however, he glanced hastily 
round to see if there were any marks to guide him when he should be 
able to return for the money; there in the corner of the field was a 
freshly-painted green sign-post. He made a mental note of this, and 
then turned to continue his flight into the black night. But too late; 
his delay had been fatal, for round the corner dashed two constables,' 
and Jabez Grant was at lost in the hands of the pohce— To be continued 
in our next. 


Having thvis finished, the worthy blacksmith put down the paper 
and took a long drink from his mug. 

"Well," said "Daddy", in a disappointed tone, "it only be a 
story after all." 

"No," said the blacksmith, "for it say here, in a little bit by itself 
that the editor 'ave actually btiried one hundred sovereigns in a little 
field in close pro-prox-eye-mighty to a green sign-post, and anyone 
with an ordinary amount of common sense can, by reading the story 
and following up the clues, find the spot, and when they do they can 
keep the money." 

"Don't believe it," said "Daddy"; "tenerate, there bain't no 
green sign-posts round here that I know of," and picking up his stick 
he departed. 

"Daddy" generally left the inn at about half-past nine, as his 
cottage lay some two miles away, at the end of the lane where it joined 
the main road to London. It was a pretty little place, and many 
cyclists stopped and purchased eggs and flowers from the old man 
during the summer months. Eggs were a good source of income to 
the old man, who, buying them from his neighbors in the village at a 
shilling per score, retailed them at ten a shilling and thus made a 
handsome profit. 

But it was not of eggs that "Daddy" was thinking as he wended 
his way home to-night; he was thinking of that fragment of the story 
that the blacksmith had read. 

"Daddy" chuckled. If he had a green sign-post in the corner of 
his little plot of ground, some cyclist would be sure to see it, the news 
would soon spread, and then others would naturally jump at the con- 
clusion that the hundred pounds was buried in his little piece of ground. 
This would bring him many visitors, and visitors meant selling plenty 
of eggs and bunches of flowers, which in turn meant that "Daddy" 
would have no need to do any work during the winter, and would 
also have sufficient to purchase beer at the little inn down the lane. 

Then he suddenly remembered that in a ditch at the foot of the 
path leading to the church lay an old sign-post, which the parson had 
told him he could have for firewood if he cared to remove it. It was 
about a hundred yards from his cottage, but up to the present he had 
not touched it; he would fetch it that very night, paint it a nice green 
color, and plant it in the corner of his little field. 

By the time this was done it was very late for "Daddy", and his 
heart failed him when he thought of the labor attached to dig- 
ging a hole — besides, if he touched the post now he would wipe some 
of the paint off. So thus excusing himself from further labors for that 
night, he put his paint-pot and brush away and retired to rest, his 
peaceful slumbers only being disturbed by pleasant visions of piles 
of bright and shining shillings. 

"Daddy" was up with the sun next morning, and it did not take 


him long to finish off his work on the post, which he soon had planted 
in a corner of his field close to the road, in a position where, thovigh 
not too conspicuotis, it was still bound to attract the attention of any- 
one passing along the main road towards London. 

Now Slowham, though as rural as rural could be, is only some 
twenty-two miles from London, and large numbers of cyclists, after 
riding through Woodford and the beautiful Epping Forest, return to 
town via Slowham, or, rather, via the road that runs past Slowham, 
for the village itself lies some two miles off the main road down a lane 
that leads to Wilcomb; this lane, after leaving Wilcomb, loses itself 
in a network of other lanes, but anyone knowing the district well would 
have no diffictilty in finding their way back to Epping by it. Thus it 
was that "Daddy's" cottage, though often visited by cyclists and 
other totirists, seldom had many of the villagers near it, for the only 
business that took them away from the village took them in the op- 
posite direction — to Epping. 

It was a Saturday morning when "Daddy" put up his post, and 
as the weather had been fine for a modern svimmer day he thought 
it possible that some bicyclists might be out and pass his cottage; 
so, wishing to be prepared for them, he went to the Boys of the Village 
and ran up a score for beer and eggs, and then, returning, seated him- 
self at the gate with a jug of ale and a long pipe to see if anyone would 
nibble at his bait. Nor was he to be disappointed, for, as the after- 
noon advanced, three cyclists passed down the road. "Daddy", with 
sparkling eyes, watched them approach; all were riding hard, with 
heads bent well over their handle-bars. Nearing the cottage, one of 
them suddenly raised his head and caught sight of the green sign-post. 
"George!" he shouted to one of his companions, "look at that!" George 
straightened up and looked. "By Jove!" he said. "Get off!" and 
they all dismounted and held a hurried consultation. 

Having anxiously examined a paper that George had in his pocket 
they strolled tip to the old man. " Good afternoon, uncle," said George; 
"can you let us have anything to drink?" 

"I've some fresh milk, sir, and you can have a glass of that with a 
new-laid egg beat up in it, if you like." 

"Capital, bring us three glasses." 

" By-the-bye," said the one who had first noticed the sign-post, 
"how do you sell the eggs?" 
Lena shilling, young master; new laid yesterday." 

"I'll have a shilling's worth!" "And so will I!" "And I!" added 
the other two. And as "Daddy" went off to pack the eggs they fell 
to discussing the sign-post again. 

"Seems all right," said George; "but how are we going to get the 
old man to let us dig the field over — he may have something planted 
in it?" 

"Buy it!" 

"What the field?" 

"No, whatever he's got in it; it won't cost much." 


"Very well, we'll try him. Here he comes; let's buy a bunch of 
flowers each, it'll put him in a good humor." 

So when "Daddy" came back they each purchased a sixpenny 
bunch of flowers. Whilst they sipped their egg and milk, George 
broached the subject of digging the field up. 

" What have you got in the little field at the bottom of your garden" 
he asked. 

"A mighty fine sowing, young master. I expect to make quite 
five potmds out on't this year, that is if it bain't disturbed, but t'other 
night my dog were a-making such a noise" ("Daddy" hadn't got a 
dog, by the way) "that I got up to see if any of they gipsy chaps 
were after my chickens, and I were just in time to see a man jump 
over the fence, then I heard the puff, puff, puff of one of they machinery 
carriages, and whoever he was he was gone. Can't think what he 
could a wanted." The three cyclicts smiled knowingly at each other 
as though they knew. 

"Well, look here," continued George, "we three are in a race, one 
of the conditions of which is that, after leaving Epping, we are to do an 
hour's digging, so if you will lend us the tools we will pay you the five 
pounds to let us dig up that little field." 

"Daddy" gasped. He had not expected such good fortune as 
this, and he guessed that the story of the race was an invention. How- 
ever, he made no demur, and the bargain was soon struck. "Daddy" 
signed the paper, written out by George, to the effect that each had done 
an hour's digging. The money was handed to him, and he provided 
each with a garden fork. 

Whilst the three cyclists were busy digging, "Daddy" was chuck- 
ling to himself and gloating over the £5 6s. that he had taken from them; 
his work of the night before had indeed paid him well. After waiting 
an hour "Daddy" strolled down the garden to the field, where three 
disconsolate, perspiring cyclists stood ruefully examining their blis- 
tered hands and casting searching glances over the freshly dug mould. 

"Time's up, gents," he said; "you can ride on now, and I hopes 
you'll win the race." 

"Thanks," said George, in a tone that showed he was out of tem- 
per and didn't want to talk. Then he turned to the others. 

"Well, it seems we've made a mistake; this is not the right sign 
post, and we've spent our money for nothing. But not a word of this 
to the other fellows at the club. I'll drop a quiet hint at headquarters 
to-night, and some of them will be bound to come down to-morrow; 
they may as well be had as us, and then they won't be able to laugh 
at us." 

"Look here, old man," he said, turning to "Daddy", "I expect 
there will be some more of our fellows down here to-morrow, so get 
plenty of eggs in, and, by-the-bye, don't mention having seen us here 

"Why, no, sir, if you don't want it known. Good-day, gents; 


hope you'll win," and three disheartened and disgusted cyclists rode 
towards London without saying another word. 

After they had gone "Daddy" put away his £s ^-^d, locking up 
his cottage, took his basket and tramped to the inn in high glee, where 
he spent what to him was a glorious evening. 

About the same time that night, as "Daddy" was trudging home 
with a fresh supply of eggs and a gait that was none too steady, George 
Parsons was leaning against the saloon bar of the Manor Hotel, the 
headquarters of the Peveral Wheelers. Neither of his companions 
of the afternoon was with him, but some eight other members of the 
club were present, including Bob Watson, captain of the club, and 
George's rival for the affections of Miss Mabel Porter, the bewitching 
damsel behind the bar. 

Mabel had been flirting outrageously with Bob, but at last George 
managed to attract her attention. "Well, Mabel," he said, "are you 
coming for a ride on my tandem to-morrow afternoon? It is your Sun- 
day evening off, I think?" 

"Yes, so it is," said the charmer, "and I'll come with you if you 
can show me the green sign-post." 

"Green sign-post," said George, with genuine surprise, for he 
thought the news of their fruitless search'must^have leaked out. " What 
green sign-post?" 

Mabel giggled. "Fancy, Bob," she said to that young man over 
her shoulder; "George doesn't know about the green sign-post." 

"Well, then, don't tell him," said Robert. "Some people go 
through life with their eyes shut." 

"I don't know what you mean about the green^sign-post, but I 
know where there is one." 

"Where?" exclaimed his listeners, like one man. 

"I passed it coming back from Epping, on the road that runs past 
Slowham. But if you will come to-morrow, Mabel, I'll show it to you." 

"All right; be round to-morrow about half-past three. I'll come." 

"Very well," said George, and then he took his departure. 

The men left behind instantly drew close together. 

"Look here," said Bet, "there is en need fcr this to go any further; 
it's top late to-night to do anything, so I think it will be best for us to 
meet at, say, five to-morrow morning, and have a run down Epping 
way. Each of you fellows can bring a trowel, or something like that, 
to dig with, and I don't see any reason why we shouldn't each be twelve 
pounds the richer by this time to-morrow night." 

About five the next morning, eight sleepy-eyed cyclists were to be 
seen scorching down the Woodford Road to Epping. So intent were 
they on their riding that few words were spoken until they decided 
that they would ride on in pairs and throughly search the hedges and 
lanes for the sign-post. 

But it didn't want much looking for, for about iour miles outside 
the town, after turning a bend in the road, they suddenly came in 


sight of "Daddy's" cottage, and the beautiful green sign-post stood 
glistening in the morning sun. The excitement was great. 

"Daddy" had just cleared away his breakfast things and swept 
out his cottage when they rode up. "Good morning, gents," he said. 
"Fine mornin', this mornin' ; be you wanting any eggs or flowers?" 

One of the young men was about to tell him to take them to his 
grandmother, etc., when Bob stopped him. 

"Shut up!" he said; "don't you see the groiind behind the post 
belongs to the old man? I think we had better buy something so as 
to get him to talk." 

This was hastily agreed upon, and "Daddy" was given an order 
for eight shilling's-worth of eggs and eight bunches of flowers. 

" By-the-bye," said Bob, "that's a funny color for a sign-post 
isn't it, old man?" 

"Yes; most peculiar thing about that sign-post," said "Daddy." 
' ' Bout ten days agone I were disturbed one early mornin' before it 
were light by my dog barking and growling. Thinking it were some 
of they gipsy folk after my chickens, I looked out and were just in time 
to see a man going over the hedge, then I heard the puff, puff, puff, 
of one of they machinery carriages, and the man were gone. When 
I come out later that post were green, sir; can't inake it out at all." 

The Peveral Wheelers smiled knowingly; any doubt they may 
have had before was now dispelled. 

"Got anything in the ground." ? 

"Oh, yes, sir; beautiful sowing. Reckon it'll be worth quite five 
pounds to me this year." 

"Look here," continued Bob, "the fellow that you saw getting 
over the hedge was a particular friend of ours, and he buried something 
in that field for us to find, but we didn't know it was in use; so I'll 
tell you what we will do. We will give you five pounds if you will 
let us dig the field over, as it is most important that we should find 
what we've come for." 

"Daddy" thought for a few minutes as though debating in his 
own mind. "Very well" he said at last; "I don't mind what you 
does as long as I bain't money out o' pocket." 

The money was collected and paid, and with a few forks, a spade, 
and some trowels, the party adjourned to the field. 

Scarcely a word was spoken until some three-quarters had been 
turned over, then one muttered: 

"Don't seem much here." "Sure to be in the last corner," said 
another, in what he fancied was a cheerful tone of voice. And so they 
tried to cheer each other up, tmtil the last inch had been turned over 
but no treasure came to light. 

"We've been had," said one. "Perhaps we've missed it," said 
Bob; "it must be here; let's turn it over the opposite way, it won't 
take long now it's loose." And again they started, but this time with 
very despondent faces, blistered hands, and aching backs, especially 


those who had been using the trowels; but still the result was the same, 
and nothing of value or importance came to light, so the party threw 
down their tools, and returned to the road. Here they found " Daddy" 
sitting by the gate blinking in the sunshine. 

"Have you found it gents,?" 

"No, we haven't," snarled Bob, "and I believe that you knew 
there was nothing there all the time, you old fraud." 

"Lor, gents, I never said there were anything. The only thing 
I knows of what's there be what I put there myself." 

"I don't think the old man can know what we've been looking for. 
Bob," said one of the men. "Most Hkely someone has been before us. 
I think we had better get back. Remember George and Mabel will 
be down this afternoon, and perhaps he will Hke to pay five pounds for a 
little healthy exercise." 

"No fear of that. Mabel knows we are coming this morning. 
But come on, let's get back. I'm mad." And the party rode off, 
leaving "Daddy" standing by the gate richer by ;;^5 12s. 

As soon as they were out of sight " Daddy" locked up and went to 
the inn for more beer and more eggs. All the afternoon he was busy 
selling eggs and flowers to cyclists, who kept stopping to ask about the 
green sign-post. About six in the evening he was sitting at his gate 
in a very happy frame of mind; he had plenty of beer and tobacco, and a 
nice little nest egg oi £1$ to help him through the winter. Suddenly 
his pleasant thoughts were disturbed by the arrival of a tandem with 
George and Mabel. 

"Good evening, uncle," said George. "Can you let us have some 
tea and a couple of eggs each?" 

"Certainly ,sir," said "Daddy," and whilst he was preparing it he 
told them of the arrival of the eight cychsts in the morning, and how 
they had paid him five pounds to dig his field up. 

"Did they find anything?" asked Mabel. 

"Oh, no; and they went away in a great rage." 

George and Mabel laughed heartily. After tea, just when they 
were leaving, "Daddy" turned to George. 

"Young man," he said, "if you know of any more gentlemen as 
would like to dig in my field just send them along, and if they are tired 
of the green sign-post and will let mc know in time I'll paint it any 
color they like." 

As they rode off George was turning the old man's words over in 
his mind, and wondering if, after all, the simple-looking old countryman 
was responsible for that green sign-post. 

'^Ehe Counsel for the Defense'^ 

The great counsel sat in his solitary chambers and looked at a photo- 
graph. It was a portrait of a girl with a flower-like face and eyes that 
might have influenced the life of a man from birth to death. Those 
eyes had looked into the eyes of him who now held that portrait, and the 
lips of their owner had given him his answer. 

"I esteem you, Sir Robert, and I think very, very much of you, 
but I cannot marry you, for I love another man." 

Sir Robert Herrick had bowed his head humbly on hearing his dis- 
missal, and had gone away bearing in his heart and brain the image of 
the girl whom he had loved and whom he had lost. 

"By heavens!" he murmured, as he glanced at the portrait. "I 
think I would give up all my honors, all my wealth, everything that I 
have won, and begin life again as a poor clerk if I might hold her in my 
arms and have her with me to guide me on." 

But the dream had worn to an end now, he told himself, and nothing 
remained save the dust and ashes of what had been a rose-tinged hope. 
He must put Beryl out of his memory for ever, and find distraction in the 
work that lay before him. 

Even as this resolution flashed into the great barrister's heart the 
door opened and his clerk entered bearing a slip of paper. 

"Great powers, it is her writing," he muttered, and then read the 
written words in a low tone: — 

"Am in terrible trouble. Can you see me for a few minutes? — 
B. H." 

"Ask the lady to come in at once, Simonds," he said, quickly, and a 
moment later Beryl Harding stood before him. 

The girl was deadly white, but her face was as beautiful as ever. 
She came towards him with outstretched hands. 

'This is indeed a surprise," said the barrister, endeavoring to speak 
calmly "I — I am very glad to see you. Will you sit down?" 

"No, no; I am too agitated — too anxious to remain still for a 
moment," she replied. "Nothing but the direst necessity, Sir Robert, 
would have brought me here to see you, for I cannot forget the circum- 
stances under which we said good-bye." 

" We will try and forget" he said, kindly. "Tell me how I can serve 


For answer she snatched a newspaper from her pocket and pointed 
to a paragraph headed "Strange Forgery Case." The paragraph stated 
that a young man of good family called Richard Hope had been charged 
at a West London police-court with having forged an acceptance for a 
very large sum. 

"That man is my accepted lover," she said, huskily, "and if he is 
convicted I shall die of grief." 

So this, then, was his rival, pondered Robert Herrick. It was for 
this young, irresponsible madman that she had abandoned the true and 
deep affection which he had placed at her feet. 

"Why do you show me this paragraph?" he asked at length, in a 
cold tone. 

" Because I want you to undertake his defense when the case comes 
on at the Criminal Court. I saw Dick an hour ago, and he said, solemnly 
' There is only one man in Great Britain who can get me off, and that man 
is Robert Herrick.'" 

"Does he admit his guilt?" asked the lawyer after a short pause, 
during which he had stood regarding the girl with intent eyes. 

" He does, but only to me — for, as you will have seen from the paper* 
he pleaded ' Not guilty' when the question was put to him by the Magis- 

"I see — I see. And so you want me to undertake his defense, do 

" Yes; save him from penal servitude, and I will bless you as long as 
life lasts." 

"Suppose I refuse! Suppose I say to you that I consider myself 
the last barrister on earth to whom you should have come on such an 
errand! Suppose I remind you that this man has taken the place which 
I might have held in your heart, and that I cannot bring myself to defend 
my rival! Suppose I say all this — what then?" 

"Ah, but you will not say it." she moaned, throwing herself at his 
feet with a low cry. " You would not be so cruel." 

" There is no alternative. Go to some other counsel, for I absolutely 
refuse to undertake this defense." 

" You refuse?" 


His steel-like lips closed firmly and his eyes grew hard with decision. 
Robert Herrick had a will of iron, and none knew that fact better than 
the girl who knelt before him. She rose slowly and gazed at him with 
despairing eyes. 

"You tell me to go to some other counsel," she exclaimed, bitterly. 
"But I know quite well that there is no other barrister in London half 
as clever as you. Dick admits that he has a very, very weak case, and 
that only a man of genius can save him from being convicted." 

" I am not responsible for Mr. Richard Hope's views as to my talents. 
He must either rely upon some other counsel's services or go undefended." 

"And that is your last word?" 

"Yes, that is my last word, unless " 


" Unless what?" 

"Unless you consent to abandon this man and to marry me in the 
event of my obtaining an acquittal." 

"Oh, can you be so base — so cruel?" 

"Yes, I both can and am. Love has torn out all mercy from my 
heart. Beryl, and has made me what yott see. I swear to you that I will 
go heart and soul into this affair and will save this man from prison if 
you will put your hand in mine and say that you will be my wife." 

"And say that you will be my wife." 

The words rang in Beryl's ears throughout her dreary journey home. 
At first she had been inclined to dismiss the proposal with anger, but 
second thoughts showed her that perhaps, after all, it would be better to 
accept Robert Herrick's offer than to allow the man she loved to go to a 
convict's cell. 

Dick was not strong. Only too well did the girl realize that the 
hardships of prison would snap the frail thread whereon his life hung, 
' and tears rose to her eyes as the thought of Dick, lying dead within a 
gaol infirmary, rose to her fevered brain. 

"Yes, the life would kill him — kill him," she murmured, "and it 
would be my fault, for if Robert Herrick undertakes the defense some 
instinct tells me Dick will be acquitted." 

Yes; that was the chief consideration when all was said and done- 
The sacrifice of her own life and happiness seemed trivial when weighed 
against the life of dear, dear Dick; and if Dick could be s?ved from pena^ 
servitude by her marriage to the great counsel, then perhaps she might 
bring herself to speak the word which would wrench her sweetheart from 
the prison cell and give him back his freedom. 

For three days of qttivering doubt she debated the question. During 
that period she endeavored to ascertain from Dick's solicitor whether 
the services of any other skilful barrister could be secured for him, but 
it transpired that the three counsel whose talents in the direction of 
forgery cases were considered to be on a level with those of Herrick were 
far too busy to assume further duties. 

At the end of the three days the girl hesitated no longer, and one 
evening when Herrick returned to his chambers, after a heavy day in 
court, the following note lay upon his table: — 

"Yes. I accept your terms. On the day that Dick is acquitted I 
will promise to be your wife. — B. H." 

A smile of triumph fitted over the barrister's worn features. 

"Heaven bless her," he murmured. "I will make her happier 
than that fellow would have done, and this night I am the happiest 
man in England." 

Next morning he sent for the solicitor who was enti^usted with 
Richard Hope's defense, and conferred with that gentleman for nearly 
an hour. 


"A bad case, Sir Robert, I'm afraid," observed Mr. Parchment, rue- 

"Not at all — riot at all. I have got off men whose cases were ten 
times as feeble, and if nothing goes wrong at the final moment I shall 
get this man acquitted as well. 

He spoke with the calm confidence of one to whom defeat is practi- 
cally an unknown guest, and to whom success is as common as his daily 

"But — but he admits his guilt," replied the solicitor, in a pessi- 
mistic tone. 

" My dear, good sir, what on earth does that matter? He is to plead 
' Not guilty,' and therefore it is simply a matter of convincing the jury 
that he is innocent." 

"And if any man on earth can do that you are the man," cried 
Parchment, looking at the mighty counsel with eyes that held very 
deep admiration. "I shall never forget how you got off that man 
Desparde in face of the most incriminating evidence ever offered against 
a prisoner in the dock." 

"A mere trifle," returned Herrick, quietly. "I cross-examined the 
witnesses for the Crown so brutally that they didn't know whether they 
were standing on their head or their feet. I succeeded accordingly in 
making them say whatever I chose, and the result was a verdict of ' Not 
guilty' without a single juryman leaving. the box." 

Then he turned towards some papers that lay upon his desk as a 
hint that the interview was ended, and the lawyer withdrew far more 
hopeful than he had entered. Meantime, the girl had given her sweet- 
heart ho information concerning the bargain into which she had entered. 

" If — if the worst should come to the worst and he should be con- 
demned," she pondered, "then he need never know at all." 

But as the days that elapsed between the committal of Dick for trial 

and the opening of the Sessions flew by her heart beat with passionate 

pain, and she asked herself a hundred times what Fate held in store for 



The Central Criminal Court was crowded to excess with a mass ot 
dingy, perspiring humanity made up of all sorts of men and women, 
whose chief amusement in existence seems to consist in attending courts 
where their fellow-creatures are being weighed in the balance. Beryl 
was accommodated with a seat at the solicitor's table, and from this 
coigne of vantage she was able to send many looks of encouragement to 
to her white-faced lover in the dock. 

The evidence for the prosecution was very heavy. Witness after 
witness went into the box and gave testimony which seemed at first 
blush to indicate the youth's guilt, but the cross-examination tq which 
each witness was subjected by Sir Robert Herrick worked wonders. 
The most cool and collected business men seemed like children in his 
facile hands; he caused them to grow confused, to stammer, to hesitate, 
and to contradict themselves until they well-nigh utterly collapsed. 


No witnesses were called for the defense save witnesses as to charac- 
ter, and these did all in their power to aid the young fellow's case. His 
uncle declared that if he were acquitted he intended giving him a fresh 
start in Australia, and this assurance seemed to make a considerable im- 
pression on the jury. 

Robert Herrick's speech for the defense was a masterpiece. The 
very pressmen, accustomed to his eloquence, looked up from their note- 
books in amazement, wondering why on earth Herrick was taking so 
much trouble over what seemed to them a very ordinary and very trum- 
pery trial. Little did the knights of the pen guess that behind the 
dingy precints of the court there stood the shadow of love, and that in 
the presence of that shadow the great barrister was able to surpass even 
his own record. 

For three-quarters of an hour he spoke, and when at length he sat 
down a great storm of applause swept the court. 

His lordship proceeded to sum up. He began by congratulating 
both counsel on their speeches, but begged the jury to weigh the facts for 
themselves, and to acquit or condemn the prisoner on the evidence that 
had been put before them. 

The foreman rose as the judge concluded. 

"My lord," he said, "we have already come to our decision. We 
find the prisoner not guilty." 

His lordship nodded blandly. 

"You hear the verdict, prisoner," he said. "You are discharged." 

Two minutes later Dick Hope stepped out of the court a free man. 

That night a handsom conveyed Sir Robert Herrick to Kensington 
Court, where Beryl Harding lived. He was about to realize the greatest 
happiness which could come to the heart of a man, and his blood danced 
with joy as the vehicle sped on, bearing him nearer and nearer to the 
woman he loved. 

" I have done my part," he murmured, " and now she must do hers." 

The servant who opened the door to the great barrister conducted 
him to the drawing-room. 

"I will tell Miss Beryl you are here, sir," he said, quietly. 

" Er — is anybody with her?" he asked, awkwardly. 

" Only Mr. Hope, sir, but I think he's going almost directly. They're 
in the summer house in the garden." 

The quick brain of the barrister guessed what was passing in that 
summer-house. He inferred that the sweethearts had met there to 
exchange their last farewell. 

Even as he sat there the voice of Beryl floated to him from the 
garden, and he could hear every halting word she spoke. 

"Dearest, it was the only way," she murmured, brokenly. "Had 
I refused to be his wife, where would you be now?" 

"Yes, yes," came the voice of the young fellow in reply. "He 
worked like a hero for me, I'll admit, and but for him I should have been 
convicted as sure as death. But, oh, darling, it seems hard to have to 
give you up." 


"Life is always hard when we love," replied the girl, in a choking 
tone, and every syllable sounded like a sob. "But there is one thing 
greater than love, and that thing is duty. My duty lies away from you, 
and so — and so, we must say good-bye." 

"Yes," he echoed, bitterly. "We must say good-bye. Herrick 
behaved like a brick, and I cannot blame him for holding you to your 
promise. Were I in his place, Heaven knows I should be selfish enough 
to act even as he has done." 

Then he paused, unable to trust himself to further speech. Pre- 
sently he continued: — 

" Beryl, you know that I am going away. My uncle is going to help 
me to begin life afresh in the Colonies, and I had hoped — hoped so much 
to have taken you with me as my wife. But since this promise to Herrick 
stands between you and me I must try and bear my sorrow like a man, 
but remember that your image will stand unrivalled in my heart until 
it beats no more." 

He broke down utterly. Thick, choking sobs issued from his lips, 
and every sob went straight to the heart of Robert Herrick as he sat 
in that solitary room and contemplated the work which he had wrought. 

The instincts of this man were noble. Passion had weakened that 
nobility for a time, but now the inherent splendor of his nature asserted 
itself, and a great revulsion began to work within his blood. 

Could he bring himself to hold Beryl to her promise ? Could he bring 
himself to part these lovers, whose hearts were knit together for all eter- 

For one quivering instant love of Beryl surged tip in the great 
counsel's soul and caused him to waver. 

"Oh, Heaven!" he murmured, huskily; "I love her! I love her! 
I love her! " 

And then, even as that cry left his lips, his thoughts flew back to a 
book by a certain author which he had read the night before, and here he 
called to mind how the great love of Sydney Carton had caused him to 
prove that love by the best proof of all — the test of sacrifice. 

In that instant decision came to him. He rose and went towards a 
writing-desk that stood in a corner of the room. Seating himself at the 
desk he wrote a few hurried words. Then, taking his hat and stick, he 
quitted the great house as silently as he had entered it. 

"Sir Robert has gone. Miss Beryl. He went off without saying a 

"Perhaps he has left a message," said the girl, in a low, miserable 
tone, as she took her steps to the drawing-room and glanced around. 

Of a sudden she espied an envelope on the mantelpiece. She flew 
towards the spot and tore open the missive. 

Then a low, tremulous cry of joy escaped her lips, and she kissed the 
scrap of paper with passionate gratitude, crying brokenly: — 

"Ah, Heaven bless him! Heaven bless him! He was noble after all." 

For the letter ran thus: — 


" My Own Darling, — I heard what passed this evening in the garden 
and hearing it I awoke suddenly to the base deed that I was about to 
commit. Thank Heaven I have awakened in time, and that I have 
realized before it was too late how evil a thing I was endeavoring to ac- 

" Good-bye, dearest and best. For some time I have been thinking 
of taking a holiday from my work, and this very night I shall go away 
to the South of France. Long before I return I hope to hear that you 
are married to the man you love — the man whom I defended to-day — 
and who I know will prove himself worthy of you after all. Good-bye. 

"R. H." 

That was all ; and the mail train rushing down to the coast that night 
bore with it a man who had gained the greatest of human victories — the 
victory over Self! 

J^ Wit and Humor. J^ 

"I think it would be a good plan to send Willie up into the 
contry for a month," suggested Willie's father. "He's never been 
on a farm and it would be rather a novel experience for him." 

"No, you don't," interrupted Willie. "I've heard all about 
the country an' I'm not going anywhere where they have threshing 
machines. It's bad enough when it's done by hand." 

"How do you like that little French girl next door, Polly?" 
"Don't like her at all," said Polly. "She calls me names. 
She called me a ma'mselle yesterday, and I aint." 

"Hello, Bingley, how did the doctor succeed in breaking up 
your fever?" 

Bingley — Oh, easy enough; he presented his bill, and I had a 
chill in fifteen minutes. 

Master — This is an example in subtraction. Seven boys went 
down to a pond to bathe, but two of them had been t^old not to 
go in the water. Now, can you tell me how many went in? 
Tombs — Yes sir; seven. 

"Mamma, what would you do if that big vase in the parlor 
should get broken?" said Tommy. "I should spank whoever did 
it," said Mrs. Banks, gazing severely at her little son. "Well, 
then, you'd better begin to get up your muscle," said Tommy, 
gleefully. " 'coz papa's broken it." 

A quarter! — isn't that pretty high for directing a man to the 

You'll find sir, said the youngster, that bank directors are 
paid high in Chicago. 


He (telling a hairbreadth adventure) — "And in the dark moon- 
light we could see the dark muzzles of the wolves." 

She (breathlessly) — Oh, how glad you must have been that 
they had the muzzles on! 

Mrs. Winks — A peddler was here today, and I got the greatest 
bargain — a whole pound of insect powder for only ten cents. It 
looks just like dirt, but it's awfully effective. I tried it. 

Mr. Winks— Worked, eh? 

Mrs. Winks — Yes, indeed. The peddler said I should put a 
little in boiling water and apply it boiling hot, and I did, and it 
killed every insect it touched. — Neiu York Weekly. 

"Mamma," said little Freddy, one evening, "may I go out in 
the street with the other boys and look at the comet?" 

"No dear,," replied his mother, "I'm afraid you might get 

"No I won't, mamma," he answered, "I won't go anywhere 
near it." 

Little Freddie — Mamma, I met the minister, and I told him 
you wanted him to come and take dinner with us this evening. 

Mamma — Why, child, what do you mean? I haven't said any- 
thing about wanting the minister to dinner. 

Little Freddie — I know, but I seen you bakin' pies today, and 
I never was so pie-hungry in my life. 

Mamma (at the breakfast table) — You always ought to use 
your napkin, Georgie. 

Georgie — I am usin' it, mamma; I've got the dog tied to the 
leg of the table with it. 

Tommy (who is trying to comb his own hair) — Ma, what 
makes Pa's head bald? 

Mamma (absently) — Oh, I don't know. Tommy. 

Tommy (decidedly) — Well, I believe he wore it out when he 
was a boy, learning' to part it. 

"Would you call Uncle Amos a stingy man?" 
"No, I should say he had all his generous impulses under 
perfect control." 

Fashions' Fancies 

spring and Summer to be Seasons of color — Between Season 

and Spring Hats; 

With every case that is unpacked, with every fresh window display, 
it becomes more apparent that the coming spring and summer are to be 
distinguished for color. The all-white fad has quite disappeared. 
Doubtless many all-white linen gowns will be worn, but the most modish 
of these in shirt-waist suits are trimmed with bands of colored cross 
stitch. Coarse white linen suits are seen in one especially good model. 
Waist and skirt are laid in medium small side plaits, ironed flat. Cross- 
stitched bands in one prevailing color, brown, green, red, or blue, trim 
the waist, one band extending down the front, and shorter ones covering 
the shoulder seams and ending in a point on the sleeves. With a suit 
of this kind goes a stock and tie of silk to match the color in the cross- 
stitch, and a high, folded belt to correspond. Where brown is the pre- 
vailing color the effect is especially pleasing. The touch of color is 
apparent everywhere. Nearly all the new laces and many embroideries, 
when they are not varied with pastel or light tones of plue, pink, mauve, 
etc., show different shades of white. For example, a Renaissance robe 
is made with pure white braid, the connecting threads of the pattern 
being a deep cream. This is typical. Many of the popular English 
eyelet embroideries are worked with blue or biiff threads. Painted laces, 
black lace appliqued on white, and laces embroidered in colors are very 
much in evidence. Some handsome muslin and batiste robes, entirely 
hand-sewed, were seen a day or two ago. These possess marked origi- 
nality, since no two are alike, and they are more elaborate in design than 
the average robe gown, with its simple, uncompromising lines. One of 
these robes was a gray batiste, embroidered in black and white. The 
skirt was trimmed with several embroidered ruffles, the fulness supplied 
by tiny hand-run tucks. The waist was tucked in the same way, and 
embroidered in a light, graceful design. A white batiste was made 
after much the same model, the embroidery being English eyelet in 
palest blue. This gown would be charming made with a high girdle of 
soft satin, or with a sash of pale blue liberty crepe. Dyed lace robes are 
among the spring displays, some handsome Renaissance gowns in brown, 
buff, and mauve attracting attention in one of the exclusive shops. 
These are rather expensive, but require so little outlay, except for linings 


— no inconsiderable item, of course — and are so effective that the firs 
cost should not be counted as excessive. The average price of a rob 
is $60. Robe gowns of voile or similar light fabrics, combined with lac 
and fagoting, are often very beautiful. A wealth of Valenciennes inser 
tion is lavished on a champagne-colored silk crepe gown. The narro\ 
insertion stripes the material down the front of the waist and skirt, th 
strips of crepe between the rows of insertion being very narrow indeed 
so that the effect is very lacey. There is no flounce to the skirt, but th^ 
material is so cut that the skirt flares widely around the feet, the lad 
being inserted in Bayadere stripes. A collar and flaring undersleeves o 
all-over Valenciennes goes with the gown. 

Spangled robes promise to be extremely fashionable. Late importa 
tions of these robes in brilliant colors of orange, blue, green, violet, anc 
red are seen. The net on which they are made is generally colored tc 
match the spangles, but in some cases is white or black. The colorec 
net is really more effective, as the robe is most often worn over whit( 
silk or satin foundation robes, with low neck and no sleeves. The darl 
net over bare arms and shoulders is lovely. An exquisite gown of fin( 
black net embroidered in steel and jet spangles was worn by an elderl) 
woman, who has retained much of her early beauty. The foundatior 
was black satin, and the neck, under the outside robe, was cut low. The 
sleeves, however, were lined, and were made in a wide bell-shape, reach- 
ing to the elbow. Below, they were continued in billows of white chiffor 
and Valenciennes lace. A pearl dog collar was worn. A white robe foi 
evening wear was embroidered with iridescent fish-scale spangles in a 
large flower design. Leaves and tendrils were of the opaline spangles, 
and the huge flowers were pastel, green, and purple, perfectly blended. 
This robe should be made over lustrous white satin, veiled with chiffon, 
and should have a girdle of several shades of soft satin ribbon, to harmon- 
ize with the splendid pale tones of the spangled flowers. One more span- 
gled robe. The foundation was black net, and the spangles silver, very 
light and lustrovis. The design covered almost the entire surface in 
festoons, while between them were stripes of very narrow black velvet 
ribbon, running up and down. The high girdle was of black velvet. 
This would make a most dazzling stage or concert gown. Among 

waists was seen a beauty in heavy white crepe. The waist buttoned in 
the back, and was laid in large folds, apparently careless folds, in front. 
The fulness was furnished on the shoulders by two shirred panels on 
either side of the middle fold. The front, the collar, and the high cuffs 
were embroidered in white butterflies, and between and around them were 
painted single rosebuds in natural colors. The painting was lightly 
done, and one had to look closely to discover that the rosebuds were not 
printed. The new flowered sash ribbons are used for making waists, 
many of which are sumptuous garments. The colors are rich almost 
beyond description, but as they are all of the silks called chine, that is, 
where the design is so woven as to give a broken, shadowy effect, they 


are not in the least gaudy. A pale corn color, for instance, has a wheat 
and poppy pattern in soft shades of red and light yellow. The sash has a 
border of rose pink satin, and when the waist is made this edge forms 
small box plaits. Another has a stirface of black shaded with smoke 
gray. The pattern is of sprawling red roses and green leaves, and the 
satin border is black. White with Dresden rosebuds, pale blue with 
water lilies, and golden yellow with wheat and corn flowers, are others 
noted in passing. 

A word in regard to linen waist patterns. Most of the new ones 
have cuff pieces embroidered to match, and as few of the made-up 
waists have, the embroidered cuff is a sort of a hall mark of a made-to- 
order garment. It is not good judgment to buy very fine linen waists. 
The heavier, coarser weaves are more stylish, and they wear much 
better. A great deal of linen was rushed on the market last season, to 
meet the unexpected demand, and hardly half of it was properly bleached. 
The consequence was that it gave bad service, splitting and wearing in 
holes after the first washing. Linen is by right one of the most durable 
of light fabrics. Pieces hundreds of years old are still well preserved, 
and almost every one remembers the stores of household linens that 
served during one or two lifetimes in old New England and Southern 
families. Embroidered linen shirtwaist suits are tempting. Some of 
these come with hand-tucked skirts, the embroidery forming panels be- 
tween the groups of tucking. The blouses have tucks for fulness, and 
embroidered bands, cuffs, and stocks. They cost from $i8 to $45. Be- 
tween-seasons hats are rather eagerly looked for early in the spring. 
The first warm days,'make the winter hats look shabby and ill-used, and 
lend an alluring aspect to the trim straws in the milliners' windows. 
Already quantities of these hats are being shown. Evidently, the sailor 
hat is to have a new lease of life. Some ugly little pancake shapes are 
seen, English importations, but one hesitates to believe that they will 
ever be worn here. One such has a narrow brim and the flattest of 
crowns bound with a canary yellow velvet ribbon. Little sprays of 
blue wheat are laid on the brim, the stems tucked under the velvet 
band, and a large blue wing with a little pale yellow in it, is attached to 
one side. Prettier by far is a mixed blue and brown straw with a me- 
dium crown and a wider brim, the outer edge of which is pale blue fine 
straw. A band of blue velvet ribbon is edged with pale gold velvet, 
and is tied in a flaring bow directly in front. 

Real Laces for Blotises — Collars, Cuffs, and Belts — Handsome 


A lace blouse worn with a blue velvet walking gown was admired 
at a recent picture show. The wearer removed the coat of her gown 
in the excessively hot rooms, showing a string colored lace blouse striped 
with an insert design of blue velvet motifs. The design suggested grape 


leaves, but it was too conventional to recognize with certainty. The 
motifs were small, and were connected with a tendril line of blue chenille 
embroidery in which was a touch of gold. We are growing so fastidious 
that real lace blouses are worn almost as commonly as collars and hand- 
kerchiefs were of old. Nothing but real collars are worn by careful 
dressers. Mechlin, Maltese, Bruges, Brussels, and Venetian laces are 
seen in quantities in all the shops. They are displayed on counters 
carelessly, only the very choisest being kept in cases. On the whole, 
the best laces for waists are Bruges or Renaissance. Either of these 
laces trim well with lace, velvet, or other applications. They also give 
good service, and can be used as long as anything is left of them. The 
Renaissance combines most beautifully with chiffon and mousseline de 
soie. Some new collar and cuff sets are made of the increasingly fash- 
ionable eyelet embroidery, or English cut work. A pretty set was made 
of fine pique, the collar being wide enough to droop over the shoulders, 
and the cuffs are quite wide. They are scolloped and buttonhole stitch- 
ed, and the embroidery is a very simple design. The price, $.3.75, is 
moderate enough. In hemstitched and drawnwork linen sets, the tend- 
ency is towards wide bands to lie flat over the collar and cuffs, instead 
of being tucked in on a band. This kind of a collar is trying, because 
it adds to the size of the neck, and a thick throat is almost as unbeauti- 
ful as thick ankles. The cuffs are very good, and one is able to keep 
them fresh with less trouble than the other kind. The price of thees 
sets is higher than the others, necessarily, since the double line of em- 
broidery or drawnwork is involved. Linen collars are very much worn 
with tailor gowns. The most fashionable of them are of the turnover 
styles to be worn with ribbons. Hemstitching, embroidered dots, and 
even borders of hand embroidery are seen on stiff linen collars nowadays. 
Once or twice going to the laundry usually finishes them, so they must 
be regarded as extravagant. Few colored borders are worn at present. 
Among dress accessories, belts are always important. After Chris - 
mas the wide crush leather belts were so numerous on the bargain count- 
ers as to raise the suspicion that they were no longer fashionable. The 
Spring importations include many wide belts, however. Some beautiftil 
ones in soft, pliable leather, and charming colors are tooled on either 
edge with lines of gold. They undoubtedly will be popular to wear 
with shirt waists. Gold belts are shown, some of them so expensive 
that they are sold by the inch instead of by the yard. Linen belts with 
small gun metal clasps will be worn as much this year as they were last. 
In fact, there seems to be little new in this regard. If we are to judge 
by the quantity and the beauty of the sash ribbons offered in the shops 
there is to be a revival of this fashion on an extensive scale. The old- 
fashioned conception of a sash was to tie four or five yards of wide rib- 
bon around the waist and loop it in a bow. That would be considered 
a dowdy sort of an effect in these days. The sash is a shaped girdle, 
whaleboned or otherwise secured in front, and having the long ends 


tied or sewed into graceful loops and knots. Lovely indeed are the 
many designs of taffeta sash ribbons with floral patterns shadowy and 
indistinct. These chine weaves usually have a border of satin in one 
of the principal colors used. Some exquisite sash ribbons in gold and 
silver gauze have satin borders, and a centre design of flowers in faint 
pastel tones. These are charming with lace and other transparent 
gowns. Soft, shimmery effects of color are much sought in all depart- 
ments of dress. The device introduced last fall of putting one thin 
material over others of different colors, thereby making rainbow effects, 
was not widely copied. Neither will the shaded chiffon gowns, it is 
predicted, be very popular. Not even the exquisite shadow silks are 
expected to attain any degree of popularity. The fact is, these effects 
are too pronounced. One would become excessively tired of a gown 
so invariable in its appearance. Besides, they are too showy; no woman 
of moderate income likes to wear a gown she knows every one who has 
seen it once will never fail to afterwards recognize. The ombres in 
veilings will have a run at the summer resorts, it is safe to say. They 
will be attractive with white gowns and wide hats on the beach or the 
board walk. According to Paris correspondents, scarfs of every kind 
and description are worn in the house, street, and ballroom. In the 
street fiat stoles of lace, ribbon, chiffon, and feathers are worn. They 
are very broad and fall almost to the feet. It is not the thing to wear 
them stiffly about the throat, but loosely on the shoulders, or falling 
around the elbows. The appearance of the coUarless coat is responsible 
in part for the street scarf, but the 1830 craze caused the reappearance 
of shoulder draperies in general. The Paris spring hat is extremely 
small. A great many turbans and boat-shaped toques appear, fancy 
iace straws being used for the most part, and the trimming very slight 
indeed. These will be popular for travelling shopping and morning 
hats displayed in the windows so early in the year. No one buys thein, 
except to carry South, and they cannot be depended upon to indicate 
coming styles. Still, they are pretty and springlike to look at. The 
wreaths and garlands of tiny button roses with which many of them 
are trimmed are delightful. There is hardly a doubt that they will be 
favorite decorations next summer. Laces will also be much used. One 
sees a great many dress shapes with drooping lace borders like half- 
veils. This sort of trimming was much affected early in the century — ■ 
that is, in the thirties and forties. 

This is an age of such individualism that latitude must needs be 
allowed in the matter of dressing. Every woman now wears what is 
suited to herself, ignoring the strictest mandates of fashion, iiowever, 
it must be allowed that the woman to whom the elongated shoulder 
seam is unbecoming will have a hard time finding patterns or models. 
There is literally nothing else to be found in made gowns and blouses. 
Almost without exception shirt waists are furnished with epaulettes ex- 
tending well over the top of the sleeves, and in some cases to the elbow. 
A pretty model has three side plaits on either side of the button band 
and box plaits in the back, and on the sleeves, the sleeve plaits being 
carried over the shoulder seam to the collar band. The plaits are Stitch- 
ed flat to the elbow. Another favorite model has a shaped yoke piece 
overlaid, a double tab extending down the front and over the shoulders. 

Theatrical Comment. 

Nothing Mansfield has ever done so deeply interested him in anticipation 
as " Old Heidelberg". It is a play fvill of atmosphere, strident human 
passion, and yet subtle charm. The German element was particularly 
fascinating to Mansfield, for his mother was a German and the student 
life could not help appealing to one who was himself a student at the 
University at Jena. Karl Heinrich is a German Prince whose young 
life has been stifled by the formality and system of court etiquette and 
flunkeyism. He has grown to man's estate in his uncle's castle with- 
out knowing any of the real joys of youth. Then it is decided that he 
shall go to Heidelberg to polish off the work of his private tutors and 
become adapted to the requirements of his high station. There he 
realizes what he has lost, but as he is about to quaff the cup of joy it is 
dashed from his lips by a call back to the pomp and circumstance to 
which he was born. Love for a charming young girl makes the blow 
the more bitter, but Karl i? a victim of destiny and he must go. A 
couple of years after, the loneliness of his royal life is broken by the 
visit of an old waiter formerly popular with the Heidelberg students. 
The Prince is so deeply affected by the interview that he cannot resist:). 
the impulse to return. His experience on his return to Heidelberg is 
only a page from the experience of every one who tries to recall the 
days of departed youth. Sad as this portion of the story is, it is by no 
means gloomy, but gives Mansfield great opportunities for the mani- 
festation of loftiest dramatic powers. George Alexander, the English 
actor has been playing "Old Heidelberg" for the last two seasons, and 
it has also won favor throughout all Teutonic Europe. Some of the 
cities that have applauded it are Dresden, Berlin, Vienna, Stuttgart, 
Buda-Pesth, St. Petersburg, Moscow, Hanover, Hamburg, Frankfort 
and Christiana. Wilhelm Forster-Meyer, a German novelist, is the 
author of the play. 

Everybody who has fallen in love with dear old Mrs. Wiggs of the 
Cabbage Patch — and she is now a universal favorite from one end of the 
nation to the other — was delighted to see her familiar figure make her 
footlight bow, in all her amusing, cheerful and deeply human charm, on 
the stage of the National Theatre, last week. Mrs. Madge Carr Cook, 
who is impersonating the loveable old lad)', with her quaint sayings and 
her homely wisdom, in this forthcoming Liebler and Co. production of 
" Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch, "seems to have scored a decided tri- 
umph in the role, and is said to be an ideal incarnation of this motherly 
character. Mrs . Anne Crawford Flexner's dramatization is , according to 
all reports from the Southern cities where it has already been seen, a 


thoroughly sympathetic reproduction of Mrs. Alice Hegan Rice's two 
now classic stories "Mrs. Wiggs " and " Lovey Mary." There i , more- 
over, a serious situation in the play for Mrs. Wiggs, in order to give her 
a truly dramatic appeal beyond mere character comedy, and this situa- 
tion is the absolutely original invention of the dramatist. It will furn- 
fish, too, the tangled thread to the entire plot, involving Low^^ Mary 
Tommy and utterly new characters, with increased dramatic interest, m 
Mrs. Wiggs' own life on the Cabbage Patch. Mrs. Flexner has practi- 
cally written, it is declared, a third Mrs . Wiggs story, adding it to the two 
already existing Of course, the central episodes of these two stories run 
through the play, in spite of all its dramatic novelty. The flight of 
Lovey Mary from the orphanage with her beloved baby-boy Tommy 
furnishes part of the plot, her arrival on the Cabbage Patch occurring in 
the opening act, While Mrs. Wiggs herself is full of heart interest, the 
love interest and romantic element centres in Lovey Mary. This un- 
happy runaway waif, with her sharp tongue and rebellious spirit, is her- 
self quite an unusual creation in fiction and she is said to have a thorough- 
ly sympathetic stage depiction by Miss Mabel Taliaferro, who has been 
for several seasons past America's most distinguished child-actress 
She is just now on that trembling line between girlhood and young wo- 
manhood which befits the role of Lovey Mary in the play. The chief 
comedy interest of the piece concerns the curious courtship, hasty wed- 
ding, and abrupt separation of Mis' Hazy and her strangely found 
"spiritual pardner," Mr.Stuhhins. 

"The Wizard of Oz" is said to surpass any recent production 
of its kind. The first act, in five gorgeous scenes, shows the home of 
Dorothy in sun-kissed Kansas. The pantomime introduction is said 
to be an exaggerated Hving picture of sufficient beauty to call out pro- 
longed applause. Then occurs the realistic cyclone made vivid by light 
effects on gauze curtains, during which all the principal characters are 
carried away to Fairyland or the land of the Munchkins, where hve a 
gayly and tastefully costumed chorus and Queen who has everything 
her own way. The third scene is a road through the forest at sunset, 
and the fourth discloses a poppy field in full bloom, where Dorothy 
and her friends are overcome by the perfume of the deadly flowers, but 
saved by their good protectress, the Witch of the North, who calls down 
upon the wicked flowers a blight. Thereupon follows a marvelous 
transformation that is declared to be the acme of scenic art. The pop- 
pies succumb to a heavy fall of snow and a reindeer team arrives to 
rescue everybody. 

Book-lovers and theatre-goers are familiar with 
KipHng's powerful and pathetic love-story, which has been arranged 
in a prologue and three acts, as follows: Prologue: War correspond- 
ent's tent on the outskirts of the camp, Soudan. Act L Maisie's Studio, 
Pomona House, London, W. Act IL Dick's Studio, Norfolk Street, 
Strand, London. Act UL Scene i — Garden of Maisie's Cottage at 


Vitrey-sur-Marne, France. Scene 2 — Dick's Studio. Same as Act II. 
The prologue gives the Tommy Atkins flavor essential in a Kipling 
tale and serves to acquaint the audience with the cause of Heldar's 
future blindness, a sabre cut across the eyes while performing some 
heroic act in the Soudan. In the firs.t act Dick renews the love-making 
with the Maisie of his childhood, only to find she has become wedded 
to her art, which she preferred even above love. The scene ends with 
a direct challenge to each other to paint a great picture, a Melancholia, 
and never to meet again until one cared to bow to the other's will. The 
second act witnesses the completion of Heldar's great picture, "the 
work of his life," as the Hght in his eyes fails, the going away of Maisie 
to complete hers, the destruction of the picture by the model, Bessie, 
and the horrible sensation of blindness as it suddenly overcomes Heldar. 
In the final act Maisie learns of Dick's blindness and returns with a 
broken will and lays her heart at his feet. At first Dick refuses to 
accept what he considers a sacrifice on her part, but she eventually 
wooes him as in the days of yore, and the curtain falls on a happy 

Anyone who can enjoy one of James Whitcomb Riley's or Eugene 
Field's poems, will find "Shore Acres" a genuine treat, and both these 
great poets commended Mr. Heme's beautiful work when they first 
witnessed its production. Its many exquisite touches of human nature 
cannot fail to impress even the most worldly minded, and to the lover 
of nature the play produces a most profound impression. Aside from 
the many beauties of dialogue and situation, the onlooker will find much 
to interest him in the remarkable details of every scene. Mr. Heme 
had a hard fight to gain recognition for his work and his struggles would 
have discouraged most playwrights, but in the end his efforts were crown • 
ed with lasting success. He has been dubbed the American Apostle of 
Reahsm and Hkewise the American Ibsen, but his work triumphed and 
he could well afford to ignore the sneers of the few fault-finders who can 
only see worth from afar. " Shore Acres" has been played over three 
thousand times in this country, and is universally recognized as the 
greatest pastoral play ever written for the English-speaking stage. It 
is strange, but true, that this interesting comedy-drama was offered 
to every well-known theatrical manager in America, and, while a 
number of them thought "Shore Acres" a fairly good play, they did 
not care to risk any money in its production. All this happened about 
fifteen years ago, and since then these astute purveyors of the drama 
annually count up the fortunes they might have earned with this 
charming idyl of American home life. 

Literary Findings. 

Recent Fictional offerings hold many Trttths; 

To construe the old adage in a slightly different sense, I think 
the recent record of successes in the reading market shows con- 
clusively that truth makes the best of fiction. There may appear 
to be a trifling ambiguity about this statement but I mean that 
clever writers have succeeded in entwining romance around the 
every-day happenings of the business world to create some of 
the strongest stories on the list to-day. " Take, for instance, the 
phenomenal popularity of Frank Norris' story, The Pit, which 
has since been dramatized and staged to find a second success 
in a dramatic way. This same author is credited with two other 
efforts along the same line and all marked with the strength an 
account of real happenings and passing events gives when utilized 
fictionally. The Daughter of a Magnate is another tale which car- 
ries out the logic of this deduction and the late story by PhilHps 
called The Cost is still another evidence of the sustained interest 
to be found in a narration of the business career of a big person- 
ality, utilizing the actual rebuffs and successes to be found in the 
strenuous business world of to-day as pegs upon which to hang 
the theme of a story teeming with dramatic realism. Aside from a 
crisis or two which comparatively few people witness, the layman 
would scarcely find in the every-day life of Wall Street or the 
busv financial market of any great city material for a romance. 
But unfortunately the casual observer is but a surface investigator 
and fails to realize the tragedies of failure and success which underly 
the cold, dispassionate atmosphere of the street. Both in the 
Norris story and, following that, in The Daughter of a Magnate 
and again in The Cost a clever pen depicts the gigantic enterprises 
originated, controlled and consummated by the masterful strength 
of a single great mind. In the nature of things, wonderful character 
traits must be found among the financial giants of this age and 
when these qualifications are deftly interwoven with the intimate 


touch of their private lives a wonderfully interesting narrative 
is the natural result. In the last five years a number of writers 
have appreciated this fact and I almost feel justified in saying that 
our best and strongest latter-day fiction is fiction only because the 
writer has failed to give the addresses of the characters he utilizes. 
In a recent issue of Ainslee's, for instance, under a classification 
called Stories of the Street, we read a cleverly told narrative of a 
gigantic speculation and it really was not necessary to evidence 
any supernatural acumen to place the names of Gates, Drake 
and Belmont as the characters in the little drama of Wall Street, 
when the Western plungers worsted the President of the Jockey 
Club — and it made a good story at that. So with a number of 
recent successful stories, the insider sitting at his desk in New York 
or possibly Chicago, could probably turn in his chair and call up 
the hero of the romance over the telephone. I shall be glad to 
see more stories of this character, for well-done they constitute 
a liberal education and aside from their narrative interest hold, 
for the reasons I have stated, much real valuable information and 
instructive peeps at the inner things of the business world. 

Mr. W. W. Jacobs has just put forth, for our delight, another 
collection of his unique stories. It is called Odd Craft published 
by Scribners' Sons, and odd it surely is. The characters, for the 
most part, are the old tide-water friends to whom the author has 
introduced us in Many Cargoes, and from whom he has drawn 
a sort of humor that is, so far as we remember, unmatched anywhere 
else. But there are some new faces among them. Notably 
Lawyer Quince," whose chief claim to the position of local Solon 
rests, in our judgment, on his ready acceptance of a tip from a 
quick-witted girl, and "Bob Pretty," the poacher, who has a 
veritable genius for getting out of difficulties. "Ginger Dick" 
and "Peter Russet," and others of their type, are, however, the 
real heroes of these stories, and their biographers' talent has been 
shown in his faculty for getting beneath the rough, and even re- 
pulsive, exteriors to the human element which displays itself 
principally in their juvenile enjoyment of pleasure. The result 
is irresistibly funny, and withal, somewhat pathetic, when one 
stops to consider their inevitable hardships. Any notice of this 
book would be incomplete without a reference to Will Owens' 
illustrations, which are really illustrations, in that they supple- 
ment and clarify, the text. To be sure they are caricatures, but 
the strain is not extended to the breaking point. 

Catching a Flat. 

Martha says I am a fool, 

Martha is welcome to her opinion; there are others who think 
differently. The Blains never did, and they have done great 
things in their time. 

Martha says that I am not capable of taking care of money. 
I only wish that Martha would trust me with more than half a 
sovereign a week, that's all. 

Martha has plenty of money — five thousand in Consols, 
eight thousand in corporation stocks, and a half share in Allen 
and Barker. Tom Allen was her first husband, and the money is 
hers for life. Then it goes to nephews and nieces. 

These enphews and nieces resent my being Martha's husband, 
and insinuate that I married her for her money; or, as Job Allen, 
in his elegant way, says, "for a nome." They quite ignore the 
fact that I was Martha's first sweetheart, and that she threw me 
over for Tom Allen. 

One morning last July Martha said, "Jonty" (my name is 
John Chesney Blain) — "Jonty," she said, "Archie is coming over 
to stay with me for a few weeks. Now, remember what I've 
told you of him." 

If all was true that Martha had said about her brother Archie, 
he was as great a villain as there was to be found. He never had a 
friend or acquaintance but he borrowed money from him and never 
repaid. He had lived under many names and in many towns. 
And the more places he lived in the more bills for lodgings he left 
unpaid. He had never done a stroke of work in his life — if we 
except the thinking out schemes by which he hoped to make a 
living by defrauding someone. 

Archie came. A big, genial fellow, about ten years younger 
than I. He greeted me affectionately, and we were chums at once. 

Archie didn't borrow money from me; at least, not much. 
I haven't much to lend out of half a sovereign a week. And he 


taught me a few things that will come in useful. There's a certain 
way of dealing all-fours; and there are things at whist; and there's 
a way of marking dominoes; and there's a cute system of giving 
losers wrong change. 

Some day when I feel a bit confident, I shall try some of the 
things Archie taught me. 

"All you want," said Archie, "is a flat, Jonty. Get hold of a 
fiat, with money, of course, and the rest is easy." 

"Jonty," said Martha, a few days after Archie's coming, 
"you're not lending Archie any money, I hope?" 

"No, dear," I replied. "How can I out of ten shillings a 

"It's enough for you," she retorted. "And don't let Archie 
entice you into any trap. He will do it if he can make anything 
by it."' 

"I think you are mistaken, dear — " I began. 

"Not in Archie Wild," she replied; "I've known him too 
long. But I think you are safe." 

When I married Martha, or, as Job Allen slanderously says, 
"when Martha picked him out of the gutter," I admit that I 
had been unfortunate in business and had no balance at the bank ; 
but I had a few possessions, and one of them was an old oil paint- 
ing. It was a full-length portrait of a gentleman, and was very 
dim and crackled all over, and the top corner was badly torn. 

I noticed Archie looking at the picture one day, and, as I 
was shaving the next morning, he strolled into the room and 
glanced at it again. 

"Yours?" he asked. 

"Yes," I repHed; "my very own." 

"Um!" he said. "Not so bad. Let's have a good look." 

He took a large reading glass from his pocket and made a 
thorough examination of the picture. Then he stood back and 
gazed at it from different positions. 

"Not half bad, Jonty. Want to sell?" 

"How much?" 

"What d'you say to a tenner?" 

A tenner! Ten pounds! I would have sold the thing for a 


"Done!" I cried, gashing my chin. 

"And done you would be," he laughed. "Listen tome, Jonty; 
you're about the slowest hand at doing a trade that I ever came 
across. This picture, this work of art," he looked at it attentively, 
"though unsigned, may be the work of one of the great masters. 
May be, I say. Probably it is not. But we — you and I — are 
business people, Jonty, my son. We must sell this for an old 
master; and if we can only get hold of a flat of the right sort we 
might get fifty pounds for it." 

"You think so?" I asked, fixing a piece of plaster on my chin. 

"Sure," he returned. "Now, I'll do the square thing by 
you, Jonty. I've a great opinion of you, and in this transaction 
we'll go partners. You would have sold me the picture for ten 
pounds. Now, I know a man; his name is Mortimer. This 
Mortimer is a juggins, who fancies he knows something about art. 
He shall be our fiat. We will sell him the picture for fifty pounds — 
at least, I will. And that will give us twenty-five pounds each." 

"But " I began, meaning to tell him that, as the picture 

was mine, the fifty pounds should be mine also. 

"No," he replied. "I could not think of taking more than 
twenty-five. I will look up Mortimer, and tell him I know of a 
bargain to be had. You'll earn your twenty-five pounds easily 
enough, Jonty. Trust to me." 

That same evening he told me that Mortimer was on. "He's 
as eager — well, as eager as flats usually are. Now, Jonty, not a 
word to Martha if you value my friendship. I've arranged with 
Mortimer that he shall see the picture at the Albion. You slide 
it out without Martha seeing you, and be there at three. And 
Mr. Guy Mortimer is ours." 

So it fell out. After several unsuccessful attempts to smuggle 
the picture out of the house without Martha seeing it, I took a 
bold step and walked coolly downstairs with it under my arm. 
Martha met me in the hall. 

"John Chesney Blain," she said, looking first at the picture, 
then at me, "where are you taking that picture?" 

"To the restorer's," I replied, adopting the methods of brother 
Archie. "You know how cracked and dirty it is, dear. Now, 
the restorer will make it like new for a few shillings." 


I said it all so glibly that she had nothing to find fault with 
and I got safely away to the Albion. 

Mortimer was a neat, smart -looking chap; not myiedaofa flat 
at all. But Archie whispered, "He's all right; we've got him." 

"Mr. Mortimer," said Archie, as we seated ourselves in a 
private room, "this is Mr. Blain, and this is the picture. It has 
been in his family some seventy or eighty years. He would not 
part with it, but — well, you know. The usual thing. Our friend 
has come out on the wrong side on South Africans; and liabilities 
must be met, and the necessaries have be be paid for. Our friend 
has parted with most of his worldly goods; and even this picture, 
the cherished possession of his family and a faithful representation 
of his grandfather, has to go. People must live. 

"There!" he exclaimed, unwrapping the picture and holding 
it up to the gaze of Mr. Mortimer. "Splendid, isn't it?" 

Mortimer looked at the picture, a bit dubiously, I thought. 

"It's very dirty and cracked," he said, 

"Age, my dear sir," replied Archie. 

"And it is not signed." 

"What of that?" remarked Archie. "I need scarcely remind 
a connoisseur of your great experience that many of the old mas- 
ters are unsigned." 

"Yes, of course, I know," said Mortimer. "Now, the price?" 

"Er — let me see. Sixty guineas I think you said, Mr. Blain?" 

"Yes," I returned, "sixty." 

"Too much; far too much," said Mortimer. "I will give 
you forty pounds." 

"Forty pounds!" cried Archie. "My dear sir, forty pounds 
for an old master! Forty pounds for a splendid example of Gains- 
borough, or Lawrence! Not to be thought of. my dear sir. An 
expert has valued the picture at one hundred guineas. Forty 
pounds! No; Mr. Blain could not think of it. His pride would 
not allow him." 

"No," I echoed, "I could not think of such a thing." 

"Now, if you had said sixty pounds," said Archie. 

They set to work bargaining and finally, Mortimer agreed to 
buy the picture for fifty pounds. "And," said Archie, "let me 
congratulate you, Mr. Mortimer, on having acquired an undoubted 
gem at such a low figure." 


Mortimer looked very pleased, and was certainly the flat 
Archie made him out to be. He handed me ten five-pound notes, 
and after I had paid for a bottle of champagne he went off with the 

"Bravo!" said Archie, smacking me on the back; "you did 
well, Jonty, my son. That's the way to handle flats." 

I gave him his twenty-five pounds. "Jonty," he said, pocket- 
ing the notes, "if we had capital we should do great things, you 
and I." 

On our way back he persuaded me to buy him an expensive 
scarf-pin. "As commission," he explained. 

A few days after Archie burst into my room in a most excited 

"Jonty," he sadi, throwing himself into a chair, "have you a 
pair of heavy shooting-boots, with soles not less than two inches 
thick — with long, projecting nails? If you have, put them on 
and kick me. Kick me well. Jump on me, Jonty, my son. 
Trample on me, and tread me into the dust, for being such a jug- 

"What ever is the matter?" I asked, anxiously. 

"Everything," he groaned. "That picture; that gem; that 
masterpiece! We were the flats, It's a Raeburn, Jonty. and 
worth anything from eight hundred to fifteen hundred pounds. !' 

"What?" I gasped. 

"It's true. We've done ourselves. Look well in the paper, 
won't it? Thus: 'There was sold at Christie's yesterday the por- 
trait of a gentleman, by Sir Henry Raeburn. It was an example 
of the best work by this artist, and may be considered fairly cheap 
at the price of fifteen hundred guineas it brought. We understand 
that the picture recently changed hands at fifty pounds.' " 

"But how do you know it's a Rreybun?" I asked, 

"A Raeburn, Jonty; a genuine Raeburn. I've just been to 
Mortimer's. He's had it reframed, and on the lower part of the 
picture, a part your frame covered, I saw the signature, 'H. Rae- 
brun.' " 

He slapped his knee. "Now I come to think of it, Mortimer 
can't have seen the signature or he'd have mentioned it. Not a 
word, Jonty. I'm off to see him again. Read these." 


He was off like a shot, throwing down as he went a number of 
newspapers. Half bewildered, I took them up and found in them 
marked paragraphs relating to the sale of Raeburn portraits, which 
seemed to sell for anything from three hundred to fifteen hundred 
pounds each. 

During the day Archie turned up again. "We're all right, 
Jonty," he said; "Mortimer hasn't spotted the signature. We 
must buy the picture back." 

"Yes," I replied, with some hesitation. The greater portion 
of my twenty-five pounds had found its way into Archie's pockets. 
He had been showing me some new card games. 

"How much cash have you?" he asked. 

I reckoned my assets to eight pounds some shillings. 

"Whew!" he whistled. "That's a bad look-out. And I 
parted with my available balance yesterday; a pressing bill — 
you understand. But let us go over to Mortimer's. You can see 
the signature, and we'll work him again. Once a flat always a 
flat, you know." 

We went over to Mortimer's. He occupied two rather unti- 
dy rooms over a tobacconist's; but, as Archie explained to me, 
Mortimer was only in town for a week or so from his place in York- 
shire. "Five thou, a year. Keeps hunters. A bit eccentric. 
Thinks he knows something about pictures," was whispered in 
my ear as we went upstairs. 

The picture was hung in a prominent position and had been 
put into a neat gilt frame, showing more of the painting. When 
Archie attracted Mortimer's attention for a few minutes I gave it 
a close scrutiny, and there, dimly, but surely enough, was the 
signature my frame had covered. I nodded to Archie. 

"Mr. Mortimer," he began, "since he saw you last my friend, 
Mr. Blain, has had a small windfall — a legacy, in fact, and his 
first thought on receiving the good news is for his picture. He 
comes to me and says, "Mr. Wild, I should like my picture back." 

"But '; interrupted Mortimer. 

"Yes," replied Archie. "I said to him, 'But, Mr. Blain, a 
sale is a sale. You sels the picture to Mr. Mortimer, and he does 
not wish to part with it again. The transaction is completed. 
But Mr. Blain has prevalied on me to see you, and ask you to 


think of the circumstances. This picture is the last cherished- 
possession of our friend. This was the last link connecting him with 
the past — a past that had its pains and its pleasures, Mr, Mortimer. 

"Under the stress of misfortune our friend breaks this link. 
The picture is gone; for four days he is alone, abandoned. There 
is no picture to remind him of his past glories. While he moans 
aloud in his solitude Providence comes to his rescue. He re- 
ceives a legacy; he finds he can repair the link he has broken. 
You will not be hard on our friend. He is getting old, and the loss 
of his picture may tell on him." 

"I bought the picture," said Mortimer, stubbornly, "and I 
like it. I will not sell it back." 

"Then you may drive Mr. Blain to do something desperate," 
said Archie, moodily, looking at me. 

"Yes," I broke in, trying to get a break in my voice. "If I 
cannot get the picture back I do not know what I may do." And 
I folded my arms and let my head sink on to my breast. 

Mortimer began to get alarmed. Archie chimed in again, 
and we worked on him till at last he agreed to sell. 

But to our dismay he wanted two hundred pounds, and we 
C2uld not make him abate a single shilling. 

"If Mr. Blain has come into money and wants his picture so 
much, he must pay for it. I've a right to mave a profit out of my 
deal," said Martimer, decisively. "I don't want to part with it, 
but for two hundred it is Mr. Blain 's again. And," he continued, 
as he showed us downstairs, "I'm off in a few days, so he must 
make up his mind quickly." 

"What shall we do?" I asked ruefully of Archie, when we got 

"You mustn't lose it," he returned. "What is a paltry two 
hundred when the picture is worth twelve hundred at least? 
Let me see. Your life policy!" 

"What of it?" 

"Sell it. Surrender it. You can raise two hundred on it 
easily enough." 

I did so. I was not going to miss the chance of making a 
thousand pounds. I was resloved to prove to Martha and her 
little-minded relatives that I had business capabilities. I dis- 


posed of my life policy for the sum of two hmidred pounds. We 
went to Mortimer, who seemed rather surprised to see us, and 
was reluctant about parting with the picture. But Archie hinted 
that he had a good opinion of Mr. Mortimer, which he would not 
like disturbed ; and eventually the picture returned to my possess- 
sion. I gave Archie five pounds, "as commission." 

"We must send it to Christie's," said Archie, on our way 
home. "And be sure to place a high enough reserve." 

A week before the picture did go to Christie's Archie was 
suddenly called away to Paris. "Got hold of a good thing, Jonty. 
Another flat — just come into fifty thousand. Too good to be 
missed. Sorr^ I can't stay for the sale. You've placed the re- 
serve at twelve hundred?" 

"Yes," I replied. "And you get twenty percent on any- 
thing over six hundred." 

Archie went to Paris and the " Raeburn " went to Christie's. 
The best bid was thirty-five shillings! 

I was a day or two getting over it. Then I sent the picture 
to an expert, who told me it was not a Raeburn nor in any way re- 
sembling a work by that artist. 

I often wonder which of them wrote the signature — Archie or 
his confederate, Mr. Guy Mortimer, the wealthy ■ Yorkshire land- 

I don't feel so well just now, for in thirteen days Martha will 
give me the money to pay my life premium and will ask me for 
the receipt. I have been turning over in my mind the various 
ways of making a rapid fortune imparted to me by brother Archie, 
but I am no nearer the solution of how to delude Martha about 
that insurance policy. 

Extracts from an address 

by Helen Kjelter, 

The annual meeting- of this association gives us another opportunity to 
discuss among ourselves and to present to the public the needs and inter- 
ests of the adult blind, and I am g^lad to avail myself of the opportunity. 

This question of helping the blind to support them selves has been near 
to my heart for many years, since long before the formation of this society. 
All I have learned on the subject in the books I have r^ad I have stored 
up in my mind against the day when I should be able to turn it to the 
use of my blind fellows. That day has come. 

"■"It is true I am still an undergraduate and I have not had time to study 
the problems of the blind so deeply as I will some day. I have however, 
thought about these problems, and I know that the time is ripe, nay, has 
long been ripe, to provide for the adult blind the means of self-support. 

The blind are in three classes: first, blind children, who need a com- 
mon school education; second, the aged and the infirm blind, who need to 
be tenderly cared for; tliird, tlie able-bodied blind, who ought to work. 

For the tliird class, healthy adult blind, nothing adequate has been 
done. They do not want to go to school and read books. They do not 
want to be fed and clothed and housed by other people. They want to 
work and support themselves. The betterment of this class is the object of 
our association. We ask that the adult blind be given an opportunity to 
earn their own living. We do not appi'ove any system to pauperize them. 
We are not asking for them a degrading pension or the abstract glories 
of a higher educaton. We want them apprenticed to trades, and we want 
some organized method of helping them to positions after they have learn- 
ed these trades. 

|;i^ Consider the condition of the adult blind from the point of view of 
their fellow-citizens, and from their own point of view. What sort of citi- 
zens are they now? They are a public or a private burden, a bad debt, 
an object of pitying charity, an ecnomic loss. What we ask for them in 
the name of christian philanthropy, we ask equally on the ground of eco- 
nomic good sense. At present the adult blind form a large class who are 
unremunerative and unprofitable. 

Such they are from the point of view of the thoughtful citizen. What 
are they from their point of view? 

Not merely are they blind — that can be borne— but they live in idleness 
which is the cruelest, least bearable misery that can be laid upon the hu- 
man heart. No anguish is keener than the sense of helplessness and self- 


condemnation which overwhelms them when they find ever}'- avenue to act- 
ivity and usefulness closed to them. If they have been to school, their 
very education makes their sorrow keener, because they know all the more 
deeply what they have lost. They sit with folded hands as the weary days 
drag by. They remember the faces they used to see, and the objects of de- 
light which made life good to live, and above all they dream of work that 
is more satisfying than all the learning, all the pleasures gained by man, 
work that unites the world in friendly association, cheers solitude and is 
the " balm of hurt minds." They sit in darkness, thinking with pain of 
the past, and with dread of the future that promises no alleviation of their 
suffering. They think until they can think no more, and some of them be- 
come morbid. The monotony and loneliness of their lives is conceivable 
only to those who have similar deprivations. I have enjoyed the advant- 
ages of the blind who are taught. Yet I used to feel unhappy many times, 
because it seemed as if my limitation would prevent me from taking an 
active part in the work of the world. Never did my heart ache more than 
when I thought I was not fit to be a useful member of society. Now I have 
found abundant work, and I ask for no other blessedness. 

I have talked with blind students at the institutions for the blind, and 
I remember the distress and perplexity with which they considered how 
they should shift for themselves when they graduated. Many of them left 
school only to go back to poor, bare homes where they could find no means 
of self-support. For seven, ten, or fourteen years they live in the midst of 
refined surroundings; they enjoy good books, good music, and the society 
of cultivated people. When their school days are over, they return to homes 
and conditions which they have outgrown. The institution that has edu- 
cated them forgets them, unless perchance they have sufficient ability to 
fight their life-battle single-handed and come out victorious. Institutions 
are proud of successful graduates. 

Let us not forget the failures. What benefit do the graduates who fail in the 
struggle of adult life derive from an education which has not been of a 
kind to be turned to a practical account? From an economic point 

of view has the money invested in that education been invested wisely? 
To teach Latin and Greek and higher mathematics to blind pupils, and 
not to teach them to earn their bread, is to build entirely of stucco with- 
out stones to the walls, or rafters to the roof. I have received letters 
from educated blind people, who repeat the cry "give us work, or we per- 
ish." and their despair lies heavy on my heart. It is difficult to get sat- 
isfactory statistics about the blind after they graduate from institutions 
where they received a book education. It is still harder to get inform- 
ation about the blind who have lost their sight when they are too old to 
go to existing institutions. But it is evident that only a small portion of 
the blind now support themselves. Mr. William B. Wait of the New York 
Institution for the blind says less than eight per cent of the entire blind 
population of the United States, even those who have been to schools for 
the blind are self supporting. 


Surely it is only an accidental division which has left one side of the 
education of the blind where Dr. Howe placed it, and has left the other 
side in the dark. In spirit, all aspects of the education of the blind are 
one, and we can be sure that Dr. Howe, had he lived, would have been the 
leader of this movement, in which we are doing- our little best. Indeed I 
believe that long ago he would have rendered our labors unnecessary. Let 
us gratefully and lovingly render, in company with those who survive him 
the honor that is his due. But since he is dead and cannot lead us, let 
us push forward, guided by what light we have. Wisdom did not die with 

All kn )wledge about the needs and capabilities of the blind did not die 
with Dr. Howe. There is much to do which he did not live to achieve, or, 
it may even be, which he had not thought of. 

The important fact remains that nothing of consequence has been done 
for the adult blind since Dr. Howe's day. It was he who established a 
workshop for the blind in South Boston, in connection with the Perkins 
Institution, and that remains much as he left it. 

He who is content with what has been done is an obstacle in the path 
of progress. 

UP! UP! Something must be done. We have delayed too long. If you 
want to know how much too long we have delayed, listen to what the Bish- 
op of Kipon said recently at the institution for the blind in Bradford, En- 
gland. Speaking of a time thirty years ago, he said: "The workhouse and 
the charity of the passerby were the only hope for the blind. All that has 
been changed. The blind have been taught useful occupations, " he says, 
"and have been enabled in manj' cases to earn sufficient to maintain them 
selves in comfort, so that it has come to be a reproach that a blind man or 
woman should beg in the streets." This is the change in England in thir- 
ty years. 

What shall we do? 

There are two things to do which work together and become one. First, 
let the state establish by an adequate appropriation an agency for the em- 
ployment of the blind. 

At the head of it should be a competent man, whose sole duty should 
be to study all occupations in which the blind can engage, to exhibit the 
work of the blind, to advise and encourage them, and to bring employers 
and blind emploj-ees together w ithout expense to either. This bureau 
should do for the blind what is done by the employment bureau of the 
British and Foreign Blind association in England. To every blind person 
should be given opportunity to serve an industrial apprenticeship. 

Suppose at the age of thirty a man looses his sight, and that means 
that he must give up his work let us say as a salesman in a dry goods 
house. He goes to the nearest industrial bureau for the blind. The agent 
knows every occupation that it is possible for a blind man to engage in, 
and he tells this man that the best occupation near his home is running- a 
machine of a certain kind. The man then goes to the industrial school for 


the blind and learns to run the machin e; in other words he serves an appren- 
ticeship in a free state school, and incidentally learns the other things 
which a blind man must learn in order to adapt himself to the new condi- 
tion of his life; that is, he gets the experience of being blind. At the 
end of the apprenticeship the agent, knowing what he can do, goes to the 
manufacturer and asks that he give the man a chance. The agent stands 
behind the man during his period of probation, until the employer is con- 
vinced that his blind workman understands his business. 

Am I dreaming dreams? It is no untried experiment. It is being 
done in Great Britain, Remember that to educate a blind man so that he 
becomes a competent workman is no magical and mysterious process. A 
blind man can do nothing less and nothing more than what a person with 
five senses can do, minus what can be done only with the eye. Remem- 
ber, too, that when a man loses his sight he does not know himself what 
he can do. He needs some one of experience to advise him. Once the 

people learn what should be done, we need not fear that those whose au- 
thority is law and those whose authority is loving charity will neglect the 
sacred duty to raise the adult blind from dependence to self-respecting 
citizenship. Therefore I have complete faith in the ultimate triumph of 
our cause. 

TKe Deadly Torpedo, 

The effectiveness of no impliment of modern warfare has been so widely 
and hotly discussed by naval experts as that of the torpedo boat."T^ All 
have agreed upon its theoretical effectiveness: for what simpler method is 
there of disposing- of an enemy's vessel than by exploding a mine under 
her keel? But as to the practicability of the torpedo boat, opinions have 
been as far away from each other as opinions can be. To most persons, 
however, the recent actions between Russian and Japanese fleets at Port 
Arthur seem to have demonstrated beyond all further question the deadly 
value of this variety of fighting craft. 

The mental picture of one of these diminutive boats, swift, lithe, alert, giv- 
ing battle to a vessel of fifty times its tonnage and able to destroy its bulky 
opponent by a single blow is absolutely fascinating. The contest seems 
vastly unequal but the effectiveness of the torpedo boat is the result of its 
very smallness. There was a time when a torpedo boat had a displace- 
ment of only twentyfive or thirty tons. Then came a rapid development in 
proportions. Boats of eight hundred and one thousand tons were built but 
the most recent boats are much smaller, the favorite sizes being those 
of two hundred, and two hundred and fifty pounds. 

The effectiveness of these boats is dependent upon their high speed. 
They can make from twentyfive to thirty knots an hour. And a few can 
exceed the latter figure by two miles. This swiftness is obtained by hav- 
ing a horsepower out of all proportion to their size. The American battle 
ship Missouri has a tonnage of 12,23 and her engines are 16,000 horse 
power. A tonnage of 277 to a horse power of 3,577 is very near the us- 

ual proportion in torpedo boats. In the case of the British Viper which 
was destroyed by accident, the tonnage was 370, and the horsepower was 
close to 11,000. The torpedoes used by the Japanese, and also in the 
United States Navy, are of the White Head type. They are cigar shaped, 
with a length of about fifteen feet, and a diameter at the thickest part of 
about eighteen inches. In the fore part of this steel shell the charge of 
guncotton, about 200 pounds, is packed away, and in the rear is a chamber 
containing air having a pressure of 1,000 to the square inch. 


About People You Know. 

Secretary Taft is six feet tall and weighs 320 pounds. "When he first 
tried the chair and desk used by Mr. Root, he found that the opening in 
-the desk was too small to admit his legs, and that the chair into which 
he could barely squeeze, threatened to go to pieces under his weight and 
send him tumbling to the floor. He immediately ordered a desk and 

chair adapted to his proportions. 

Senator Clarke of Arkansas can sa}' more words in a given period than 
any other statesman in Washington, His speed is said to be from 200 

to 250 words in a minute. When he plunged into his maiden speech in the 
Senate recently, his waistcoat wide open in good western style, his vocal 
outpouring was so rapid that his hearers could hardly separate it into 
his component words. He is the rapid-fire gun of the Senate. 

The late Bishop Dudley of Kentuckey knew how to administer a rebu- 
ke in a pointed manner. A wealthy and very stingy member of his con- 
gregation who was preparing to go abroad said to him just before starting 
on the journey: " I have never been on the ocean and I would like to 
know something that would keep me from getting seasick," "You must 
swallow a nickle," responded the bishop. "You will never give that 

In the recently issued volume of reminscences, "Personalia," a charac- 
teristic illustration is given of the wit of Oscar Wilde. A humdrum Brit- 
ish poet complained to the British dramatist of the neglect with which his 
poems were treated bj' the critics. 

"There seems to be a conspirac}^ of silence against me. What would 
you advise me to do?" he inquired of Wilde. 

"Join it," was the unconsoling reply. 

The late Mr. Whistler, as witness many stories, was a master of sar- 
casm. It is related that while seeing a play in a London theater he was 
being constantly annoyed by his neighbor, a woman, getting up and 
going out, not only after every act, but during the play as well. Mr. 
Whistler's irritation grew, as she continued squeezing past him, till near 
the end of the play he could controll his tongue no longer. "Madam," he 
said in his very sweetest and smoothest tones, "I trust I do not incom- 
mode you by keeping my seat?" 

John Burns, the famous English labor leader and member of Parlia- 
ment, was seen by a Battersea Elector walking arm in arm with a 
shabily dressed man, whom the Battersea resident took to be a tramp. 
Drawing Burns aside he said to him: "look 'ere, John democracy's all 
very fine, but don't you recognize what's due to 3^our position as a me- 


mber of the 'ouse? Fancy walking about harm in harm with a working' 
man" "S — sh," whispered Burns "that is the Duke of Norfolk," and 
so it was. 

The Duke of York is a very absent-minded man. The following story 
illustrating this quality of his mind, and the lavishness with which his 
Chatsworth house is furnished went the round of the French press at the 
time of theParis Exposition. While passing through the loan section of 
the English exhibits in company with a friend he paused to admire a por- 
phyry table of remarkable beauty. He examined it long with the eye of 
a connisseur and at last exclaimed: "I wonder who is the owner of such 
a beautiful speciinen of workmanship? I almost feel inclined to envy 
him." His friend consulted a catalogue and then handed it to him with 
a smile. The table came from the Chatswy^rth House, and was loaned by 
the Duke ofYork. 

Mr Crosland, author of that biting volume "The Unspeakable Scot", 
remarks in "Lovely Woman", his latest tvprk: "When I look upon my 
life in my calmest moments, I am prone -to, wish that all women were 
widows, If they were, the amount of human suffering on earth would, 
to say the least, be sensibly reduced." One of the reviewers replied to 
him by saying when he thought of Mr Crosland, he was inclined to agree 
that if one woman, at any rtate, were a widow, the amount of human suff- 
ering on earth would, to say the least of it, be sensibly reduced." 
Mr. Crosland, infuriated, promptly brought a libel suit against the St. 
James Gazette in which the revievt' appeared, the anthor lost his suit. The 
British public applauded the decision, for the work is an inane and scur- 
rilous attcak upon womankind 

Sir Leslie Stephen, the eminent English man of letters, died Feb, 

Of the fortyeight delegates elected so far to the Republican nationl 
Convention, fortyfour have been instructed for President Roosevelt. 

The Federal Assemblj' of Porto Rico on Feb. 20th. Demanded by 

a vote of 60 to 15 that the island be admitted to statehood or be grant- 
ed her independence. 

Under the new Panama constitution the further entry of Chinese into 
the republic is prohibited. The Chinese now residing in the cities of the 
republic are to be isolated. 

Captain Robert H. Bruce and Maj. Henry B. Hershey of Rooselvt's 
famous regiment of Rough Riders are tr3dng to organize a regiment of 
Rough Riders for service with the Japanese against the Russians. 

The Iowa Supreme Court has decided that a tramp stealing a ride 
on a train has rights which the trainmen must respect. The tramp in this 
particular case was awarded damages for injuries sustained from being 
thrown off a moving train. 

The followers of Dowie are going to try to convert followers of Brig- 
ham Young, if the present plans of the officers of Zion City are carried 


out. This'religious invasion of Salt Lake City is scheduled to take place 
next August. It is announced that 50,000 Dowieites will compose the 
Zion Host. 

Senator Burton of Kansas, under indictment on the charge of having 
used his influence for the benefit of the Rialto Grain and Securities Com- 
pany, has attempted to evade trial. However, the United States District 
Court at St. Louis overruled his demurer to quash the indictment, and he 
will have to face a jury. 

The Insular Bureau of the War Department has issued a report on the 
foreign commerce of the Philippines. The report shows that last year 
there was a substantial increase over the previous year in the value of im- 
ports and exports. Their heavy exportation of hemp and copra is the 
prominent feature of the recent commercial development. 

Good Advice to the South 


Clark Howell of Georgia serves notice that in 1508 the south will'present 
a candidate of her own for the presidency. _ Just at this time he thinks 
very highly of Senator Bailey, who is a clean and able man. This is all 
very well, but there are two things to be considered in connection with it 
which make it subject to revision. 

In the first place the south, in consenting to efface herself again this 
year, leaves the field to the east, and the east is considering for the St. 
Louis nomination men like Judge Parker, Mr. Olney, Mr. Hearst and in- 
termittently, Mr. Gorman. The nomination and election of one of these 
men would mean a renomination in 1908. A successful administra- 

tion would make that certain, while an unsuccessful administration would 
make the nomination that year of so little importance that the south 
would not care to contest for it. Even the nomination and election of Mr 
Cleveland might very well mean another try four years hence. He is in 
fine health now, and would then be little' past seventy. If a third should 
be voted, why not a fourth? ' " 

In the second place the south has been in leading strings so long, 'first to 
the east and then to the west, that clipping them and going it alone would 
not be as easy as imagined. She has acquired the habit of dependence in 
national affairs. She has no national policies. She has taken not only 
the candidates but the platforms from her allies as a mere matter of expe- 
diency until she has been on both sides of every question. She supported 
Mr. Cleveland and his sound money backers as enthusiastically as she af- 
terward did Mr Bryan and^his free silver backers; and she is applying to 
the latter now^some of the same' epithets she applied to the former. This 
does not make for character, nor would it inspire public confidence as to 

The south has some men who are highly accomplished and very at- 
tractive on personal grounds. Mr. Bailey is one, Mr. Williams of Mississ- 
ippi another. Among her older leaders are Mr. Cockrell and Mr. Daniel. 
But old and young alike are identified with her political course for the 
past two decades, and this^leaves them representative of but one issue, 
and__that the nullification of the fourteenth and fifteenth amendments to the 
constitution. As to their supporters, they view everything as through the 
Negro, darkly. _ No southern man will ever be nominated for the presi- 
dency until two political part les are permit ed to exist down there, and 
discussion is free and welconre, and nation il policies are examined on 
their merits. 

SvindoLy at the EaLrm 

On Sunday mornings years ago, when but little lad, 

I used to come to salt the sheep in this same field with Dad. 

The little clouds that floated round, I thought were bits of wool; 
The sky was blue as 'tis today and calm and beautiful. 

Now Dad is gone, and mother, too; they lie up on the hill, 

Just by that clump of poppie trees beyond the old red mill; 

For time has kept a creepin' on and you and I are men 

And little Robbie thinks the thoughts that I was thinkin' then. 

There's a brown thrasher in the tree that stands there on the knoll. 

Just hear the little tyke spillin' his immortal soul! 
Our preacher says that man alone has got a soul, but yet 

What pretty critters God has made, and loves 'em too,, I'll bet! 

I know the city pretty well; I lived there once awhile. 

But I was the homesicekst boy you'd meet in many a mile. 

The very horses on tlie street looked sad, it seemed to me. 

There wa'a't a colts a-friskin' round nor lambs as I could see. 

So when in June the breezes blew across the prairied west, 

I packed my grip and told 'em I had got enough, I guessed! 

Of course, there's city folks who keep their faith in God and man. 
Though if they stay there all the while I don't see how they can 

We'vhad our trouble, wife and I, we buried little Dot; 

Upon that slope we made her grave — a green and sunny spot; 
And Death will never more to me seem terrible and grim 

Since have seen my little girl a — smilin' up at him. 

And often now I come out here and set me down a spell 

Where rustlin' leaves and wavin' grain seem whisp'r,in' "All is 
I wish that all who'd like to feel their dead are safe from harm 
Could come out here and spend with me a Sunday on the farm. 

— Chicago Herald. 

— . ~7 ^-' -■ ' ■ *% 


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1203 F Strrjt, N. TO. 
fl:C)aft5, Developing anD Supplies. 



332 PENN. AVE.. N. W. 


Sweetest Toned 
Piano Made 


F. G. SMITH, Piano Co. 
1225 Pa. Ave.. 



Vice "Prijideni. 

"Bhe **Quick Lunch" 


905 F., N. W. 





The Miller Shoemaker Real Est. Co. 


Takes care of Realty Interests, 
Phone West 40 1323-25 32nd Street. 



BRANCHES:- 3RD & K Sts. N. W 

1 3th & Water Sts. S. W. 
1515 7th N. AV. 14th & D S W 

Thone Main 712. 

Chapel for Ftiaeral Services. 

Phone West 15 

2008 Pa. Av. N . W. Washington, D. C. 

ffiaTTs promptlE attcnricd to riSE cr ntsht. 


Furniture, Carpets, 
. . Upholsteries & 
Wall Papers . . 

Cor. nth and F Sts. N. W. 


420 to 426 7th St., 

417 to 42^ 8th St. 


gmpnrttim nf Vtt%. 

Tsxixtermg. 712 IZthr Street, N. W 

A. Jackson. 

L. J. Jackioa. 

Jackson Bros»^ 

Cash Furniture House 

915-9 J7-9J9-921 Seventh St N. W., 
and through to 

636 Mass. Avenue, Phone E241.y 

W^e have fitteo wver 100,000 eyct, we can fit yoa. 


thing Op- 
tical. "* — "^ -"^^ "in Price*. 

907 F Street N.W. M asonic Temple 

Washington Dental Parlors. 



Modern Dentistry at Moderate Prices. 
Oflfice Hours, MAY BUILDING, 

8 a. m. to 5 p. m. N. E. Cor. 7th & E Sts. 

Sundays lo a. m. to 3 p.m. 

peter (Brogan Co*, 

Furntturje and darjEets, 
819 821 a«823^ni^tbSt.N.m 




W. B. DODOX! A SOK, PKOPHt«xoma. 

Office and Depot, 1757 Pa. Ave. N. W. 

Sanitary and Pasteurized Milk and Cream* 

From Tobcrculeaa Tested Cows. 
Iwoi wim* Kasm, Shamok Fabm. 

Itrnmxm-^zijjL, Va. XtAjft^m, Va/ 

PHoim aaai-T. 





J Gas 
j Ranges, 

Equally effective in 
Winter and Summer. 

j Gas I CLEAN and SWIFT 
S>A±iJt.l Y , Heaters. 1 in Results. 

A Quick Hot Fire maltes a Breakfast on Time. 


Market Space. 

The Busy Comer, 



and Ladies' SSnoes. 

Pcnn. Ave. and Seventh St-. 



'Practical Kmbalmer, 

No 2goo M Street. Georgetown, D. C. 
Telepl,ione Call, 1038-3 

1734 Vsnnu. ^nznviu 

Parlor for Funeral Services 

^ ^ <5« Phone Main 131 

WANTED young- men of moder- 
ate means to take homesteads 
free with rain to order under the 
Reclamation Act. Millions of 
acres of rich level land awaiting" 
only for the mag^ic touch of water 
stored bj^ the U. S. g-overnment 
in one great system of dams on 
the Gila River, to make it the 
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Applicants must be morally, 
mentall5'^aud!physically equipped 
for a g"reat cooperative work. 
For particulars apply to The 
Gila River Water Company at 
Florence, Arizona. 

1'he paper Ca/J^T, Uate^ and 'Publtc Opinion is printed on is fornishd by 
R. P. Andrews & Co. (Inc.) 627 and 629 La. Ave. N. "W". The only strictly "Whol 
sale Paper House in the city. Sole Agents in tht District of Columbia for The West 
V^irginia Pulp and Paper Co.^ the largest manufacturers of Book Paper in the World. 
if you need paper, better try them. 'Phone East 5^5 

338 Indianna AVe. N. W. 705 Ninth St. N. W. 





Columbia Polytechnic Institute for the Blind, 

1808 H STREET, N. W. 


RKV. H. N. COUDEN^. President, 

F. E. CLExVVKJ^'\?sI"), Skcretar^- 

Oi\e Dollar a. Year, - - Ten Cents a Copy 

_— ■^ 


Contents tor Hpril 1904. 


Trip Around the World 1 

Four Out Of Five, Who Serve The King 

(A Serial Story) Continued Edward Franklin 5 

Wit and Humor 15 

Long Pants (A Poem) 16 

Successful Blind People 17 

Alice's Club (A Child's Story) • 20 

Public Opinion and Current Comment 22 

How Jack Simpson Found Promotion - • . ' 27 

Fashions' Fancies ' 33 

His Brother's Keeper (A Short Story | ■ 36 

Her Voice (A Short Story) 43 

A Puff of Smoke (A Short Story) 49 

Two Sinners (Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox; , > 52 

The Strongest Light In the World 52 

Millions In a Mine (A Short Story) 53 

Washington's Oak 60 

tTalke anb tTalee. 

Vol. VII. April 1904 No. VII 

By the Famous Travelers, E. and E., and their Equally 
Famous Servants, S. and P. 

When Dr. Bennett reached Gibraltar he found intsructions awiating 
him, to proceed at once to Japan, and as that country, always one of in- 
teret, was becoming- more and more so by the rapid march of events, sio- 
nalizing her ascendency, and importance as the rising- power in the East, 
Messers S. and P. ,upon the earnest solicitation of the Doctor, decided 
to accompany him. 

"We were most fortunate in being- Dr Bennett's companions as we 
were thus able to secure passag-e to Hong- Kong, on the English cruiser 
Corsair We were to touch at Malta and Port Said, pass through the 
Suez Canal, spend a few days each at Aden, Bombay, Trincomalee, on 
the Island of Ceylon and Singapore. 

Malta is an island and British possession in the Mediteranean, and is 
distant from the Sicilian coast about 54 miles. It is about 17 miles long 
by about 9 broad. It is thought by some that Malta was the Hyperi 

on on Orygia of Homer, but there is little doubt that the Phenicians col 
onized the island at a very early date, possibly in the 16th. century B. C. 

It passed successively under the sway of the Greeks, Carthagenians, 
Romans, Vandals, Goths, the Byzantine Empire, Arabs, Germans, the 
house of Aragon and Castile, and in 1530 Malta, then in the possession 
of Chas. V was granted by that Monarch to the kniglits of the order of 
St. John of Jerusalem, from whom the Turks had recently captured their 
great strong hold at Rhodes. The knights raised by degrees the stupen- 
dous forticfiations which render Malta so powerful and, moreover spent 
their large income in beautifying the island in every way. 

The knights rendered great service for the cause of Christendom in 
their defence of the island when it was besieged by the Turks in 1565 and 
their gallantry was the theme of admiration throughout the world. 

Though waging perpetual war with the Moslems, the knights continu- 


ed in possession of Malta until 1798, when overcome by Bonaparte's trea- 
chery, and disorganized by internal quarrels, the order surrendered their 
noble fortress to the French. 

Later, Malta was wrested from the French by the English, and has 
since continued. Taken altogether, Malta is a possession the British hi- 
ghly value; it is nearly, if not quite as strong as Gibraltar, and far 
more useful. 

Our stay in Malta was very short; in fact so short that none of our 
party had time to go ashore, and we were soon on our way to Port Said, 
which is the depot of the company that constructed the canal through 
which we are to pass from the Mediterranean into the Red Sea. 

Here, for want of a natural harbor, a large body of water is enclosed 
by stone piers stretching far out into the sea. The lighthouse, with its 
electric light, is one hundred and eighty feet high. 

Port Said has a population of about 10,000. From Port Said the can- 
al crosses about twenty miles of Menzaleb lake, a saltwater shallow, 
closely resembling the lagoons of Venice, having from one to ten feet dep- 
th of water. The canal through this lagoon is one hundred and twel- 
ve yards wide at the surface, twent5rsix yards at the bottom, and twenty- 
six feet deep. An artificial bank rises fifteen feet on each side of this 
channel. Beyond Menzaleb lake, barrier works beign. The distance 
thence to Abu Balah lake is eleven miles, with a height of ground above sea 
level varying from fifteen, to thirty feet. Crossing the last nam 

ed lake, there is another land distance of eleven miles to Temsah lake, 
cutting through ground to a depth varying from thirty to seventy or eigh- 
ty feet; and then three miles further across this little lake itself. At El 
Guisr or Girsch, occurs the deepest cutting in the whole line, no less than 
eightyfive below the surface; at the water level it is one hundred and 
twelve yards wide, at the summit level one hundred and seventythree yar- 
ds, from which the vastness of the gap may be estimatde. Ismailia, 
with a population of five thousand, on Temsah lake, is regarded as the 
central point of the canal. While the canal was being made, it grew up 
rapidly from an Arab village to a French town, with the houses of engin- 
eers and managers hotels shops cafes a theatre and a central railway sta- 
tion from which railway's stretch to Alexandria and Suez. 

The heavy cuts occur from Temsah lake to Suez in some places the ban 
ks on either side of the canal rising fortysix feet above the sea level. 

When it is understood that the canal is seventytwo feet wide at the bot- 
tom and is twentysix feet deep from the water surface some idea of the 
magnitude of this undertaking may be gathered. 

On Nov 16 1869 the Suez Canal was opened in form with a procession 
of English and foreign steamers in presence of the Khedive the empress of 
the French the emperor of Austria the crown-prince of Prussia and oth- 

The tolls charged are at the rate of $2 per ton, and $2 per head of each 
pasenger. A single year's receipts from these tolls aggregated $13,678,390. 


The great advantage of the canal is of course the shortening of the dis- 
tance between Europe and India. From London or Hamburg to Bom- 
bay is by the Cape about 11 225 miles, hilt by Suez only 6332; that is, the 
voyage is shortened by twentyfour days. From Marseilles or Genoa the- 
re is a saving of thirty days From Triest, of thirvtyseven days. 

From Suez our course lay south east about 180 miles in the Gulf of Su- 
ez, and about 1220 miles in the Red Sea proper, to the straits of Bab-el- 
Mandeb, thence through the Gulf of Aden, to Aden, on the south east co- 
ast of Arabia. 

From the earliest times the Red Sea has been a great highway of com- 
merce between India aned the Mediterranean land, and traversed success- 
ively by Egyptians, Phenicians, Hebrews, and Arabs. It is first mention 
ed in the bool< of Exodus, on the occasion of the passage of the Israelites 
which is supposed to have taken place a little south of the present town of 

In a valley which forms the crater of a submarine volcano, stands the 
town of Aden, which is also named from the neighboring promontory, Bab 
el Mandeb, or the gate of tears. It was styled by the native Arabs, A- 
den or Eden (Paradise), on account of its fine climate and great commer- 
ce, for which it was celebrated from the earliest times. It enjoys almost 
perpetual sunshine; a cloudy day is of rare occurance; the heat is pleas- 
antly tempered by the sea breeze; and the inhabitants are generally heal- 

Up to the time of the circumnavigation of Africa, Aden, so favorably 
situated at the entrance of the Red Sea, was the chief mart of all Asiatic 
produce and manufactures, and even the Chinese traded here. Marco 
Polo and other voyagers )f the middle ages told wonderful tales of the 
riches and splendor of the place. In the course of time, however, it 
was reduced to a small village, which in 1838 contained only about 600 in 

About this time, a British vessel suffered shipwreck off the coast of A- 
den, where the passengers were plundered and otherwise ill treated by the 
natives A vessel was therefore despatched from Bombay, in 1838 to co- 
mpel the Sultan of that country to make restitution, and also to learn on 
what terms the Arabs would be willing to cede Aden to the Britisli. 
Capt. Haynes, by fair promises, succeeded in gaining a cession of the 
country from the Sultan, a weak covetous old man Afterwards, fearing 
the displeasure of some neighboring tribes, and partly moved by the sug- 
gestions of religious Sheiks the Sultan repented of the transaction, but was 
held to his contract by force of arms; and on January 11, 1839 after a few 
hours contest, Aden fell into the hands of the British 

This British possession is of great importance in a mercantile and na- 
utical point of view, having a position between Asia and Africa like that 
of Gibralter between Europe and Africa Its population now exceeds 35- 
000, gathered from every nation under heaven Aden is a telegraphic st- 
ation on the cable between Suez and Bombay, laid down in 1870. 



We were greatly disappointed with our short stay at Bombay, as we 
had counted upon at least a week, whereas the captain of the Corsair on- 
ly stopped long enough to receive intsructions and land a Rajah, or nat- 
ive Prince, who was returnig from a visit to England. 

Dr. Bennett assured us however that we should have an opportunity on 
our return from Japan, as he intended to spend several months in India, 
before returning to England 

Five days were expended in our trip from Aden to Bombay, and four 
days were consumed in the cruise from Bombay to Trincomalee, the prin- 
cipal port of Ceylon. 

Here too no opportunity was afforded to land. The natural attractive- 
ness of the island however, gave promise of much pleasure, when, on our 
return we should have plenty of time at our disposal. 

A cruise of about fourteen hundred miles fdllowed, and we cast anchor 
off Singapore. 

The population of Singapore is perhaps the most heterogeneous in the 
world, comprisiner at least sixteen nationalities, speaking different tong- 
ues. The Malay, however ,soft and easily acquired, is the recognized me- 
dium between all classes 

Since the raising of the flag of Great Britain, in 1819, on the island, 
then inhabited only by a few poor fishermen, its prosperity, as a free port, 
has been almost without a parallel. 

The average number of steamers and other craft entering and clearing 
from this port annually exceed eight thousand. 

It and the adjacent land for ten miles from the site of the town, is un- 
der a governor appointed by Great Britain. 

The curse of Singapore is the tiger. It is estimated that three hundred 
Chinamen and other natives are carried off yearly. Turtles are abund 
ant on the shores, and form the cheapest animal food in the bazaars. 

Fifteen hundred miles more of ocean voyaging, and we have reached 
Hong Kong 

This island which is nine miles long and from two to six broad, was ce- 
ded to her Britanic Majesty, by the treaty of Nankin in 1843 

Victoria, its capital, is situated on the northern shore of the island on 
a small bay surrounded by mountains, and is laid out in magnificent str- 
eets and terraces. The island has a population of upwards of two hun- 
dred thousand 

Here we parted company with the Corsair, and two days later took a 
steamer toYokohoma. 

Four out of Five, 

Who Serve The King, 

"By Edtoard rranKJt'n. 

All "Righlj "Restf-Ced. 


Two weeks later a company consisting of seven persons, two 
of whom were a lady and her maid, one a beardless youth and the 
other four young men under the middle age, could have been seen 
alighting from cabs in front of a square, red brick house in the Rue 
de Ribola in the Italian quarter of a certain large and well known 
city of France. They were evidently expected, as the front door 
of the house was thrown open by a matronly -looking lady wdio was 
very demonstrative in her reception — especially noticable was the 
warmth of her greeting given to the young lady. Scrutinizing the 
faces of the members of this party, we should have no difficulty 
in recognizing the five Nihilist exiles and the sister of Francesca. 
It had been arranged between this party of travellers and Ergon- 
serat that he should precede them several days and arrange for 
their accommodation when they should reach their destination, 
and the matronly-looking lady was Olinka Ergonsoratkoff, the 
eldest sister of Ergonsorat, who was so overjoved at the recovery 
and restoration of her brother that her gratitude overflowed and 
encompassed all who had in any way contributed to form the chain 
of circumstances which had been instrumental in bringing it about. 
Ergonsorat had told her his story, and his enthusiasm and earnest- 
ness when he described Tessa Francesca and related the part she 
had taken in the liberation of her brother, had enabled Olinka to 
discern that which was not yet wholly apparent to Ergonsorat 
himself; and when she extended her greetings to Tessa that young 
lady felt that a near and dear sister could not have given her a 
more cordial and loving reception. Directing a servant to show 
the male portion of the party to the apartments prepared for them 
and informing Tessa's maid where to bestow the light luggage they 
had brought with them, Olinka drew Tessa into her own apartment 
and after removing her travel-stained outer garments and insisting 
upon her drinking a cup of hot chocolate, told her she must lie 
down, tucked her away in her own cosy bed with an injunction that 


she must lie there and rest until that tired, weary look should be 
banished from her sweet face. Pressing her fingers over Tessa's 
eyelids, she gave her a sisterly kiss. 

"You must know, my dear, that I am a little selfish .because 1 
want you to look as refreshed and lovely as a rosebud when that 
dear brother of mine, whom God has given back to us from the 
dead, returns. You see men _never can keep their secret if they 
are in love, and though he has not told me a word, I know from the 
light in his eyes, the earnestness of his voice, and the wave of color 
that came into his face when he was telling me all about you, that 
Cupid's shaft had not flown amiss of his mark. " 

As she said this Olinka looked inquiringly into Tessa's face, 
and weary and tired though it was, she read in it what she had 
earnestly hoped to find, and, kissing her once more, left her to fall 
into a sweet and restful slumber in which she dreamed that her 
own dear mother had come back to earth from Heaven and was 
sheltering her in her arms. Olinka, with a- heart full of joy at her 
discovery that the pretty, delicate Tessa had been more than glad 
to hear of Ergonsorat's admiration, went about her preparations 
for the entertainment of her guests, singing as she had been wont 
to sing before the cloud of sorrow had burst upon her Russian home, 
separating her at once and, as she thought, forever, from her father, 
mother and brother. When she had seen that all were provided 
with the refreshment she had prepared for them and each had re- 
tired to his room to rest, she seated herself by the bay window 
which overlooked the well kept garden walled in from the busy 
bustle of the city's eager, aggressive life, and thought how much 
like her own dear sister, who had joined father and mother on the 
other shore, this slight, delicate, lovable child was, now so near to 
her. Had her Heavenly Father remembered her at last? Was 
she, whose life had recently been so sad and full of weariness, now 
to have it gladdened by the love and companionship of a dear, 
strong, handsome brother, and a sweet, trusting, and confiding 
little sister? Her happiness and gratitude knew no bounds, and 
going out into the garden, she began to pick flowers with which to 
adorn the table at their evening meal, resolving that, for that night 
at least, Tessa and her brother should share with Ergonsorat and 
herself their evening meal in her own cosy little sitting room. And 
so it came about that while their other guests were duly cared for 
by the attendants, Olinka's programme was carried out to the de- 
light and satisfaction of all concerned. Ergonsorat, upon his 
return, entered into the spirit of the occasion fully responsive to 
the glad and overflowing heart of his sister, with the feeling that 
now for the first time since the breaking up of the old home circle 
he was supremely happy. 



It was the day of all days at the Bodwin Institute for the 
Blind. Many hearts were beating with anxious excitement. The 
last rehearsal had taken place the previous afternoon in Bodwin 
Temple. The brass band, composed of twenty young blind boys, 
whose ages varied from fourteen to eighteen, had equitted itself 
with great credi, tand the various undergraduates who were to take 
part in the exercises had vied with each other in competition with 
the graduating class to win the prize open to all competitors for 
the best essay. For more than twenty years the custom had pre- 
vailed of alternating the gift of the highest class honors first to the 
boys and then to the girls; and this year the valedictory was to 
be deUvered by Miss Alice Brainard. It had been conceded that 
AHce, who was a favorite with both her teachers and her classmates, 
would carry off this prize. An absolutely fair and just method 
had been employed in making the selection. The essays of all the 
aspirants had been handed over to judges who were unacquainted 
with the pupils. The Braille characters employed had no charac- 
teristic marks by which the writer could be distinguished. But 
the essay that Miss Alice had handed in had nevertheless who for 
her the distinction she had labored earnestly to obtain. She had 
entered the Institution at eight years of age, shortly after the death 
of her mother, who had survived her father only two years. She 
had no known relatives living, but kind-hearted Mrs. Barlow, who, 
notwithstanding she was the bread winner for her own family, 
which included ah invalid mother almost helpless by paralysis, 
had assured Margaret Brainard on her death bed that she would 
look after and befriend her little blind child, Alice. It seemed to 
everyone that God had doubly endowed Mrs. Barlow with health 
and strength. She was one of those jovial, jolly good souls, who, 
either in the sick chamber or at a social gathering, is as welcome 
as the sunUght on a dismal cloudy day. After a day's work that 
would tire two or three ordinary women, a ten minutes' rest or 
short nap would enable her to roll away the burden of the day and 
appear as fresh, vigorous and animated for an evening's enjoyment 
or a watch by the bedside of the sick as though she had just risen 
after a night of restful slumber. Everybody laughed at her and 
with her on all occasions, and the sick vowed that a call from her 
did them more good than the prescriptions of their physician; 
and so, when she assured Alice's mother that she would be a mo- 
ther to Alice, the great burden of anxiety that had been weighing 
down the heart of the dying mother was rolled away and she went 
peacefully to her last sleep, thanking her Heavenly Father for 
raising up such a strong, generous friend to care for her little blind 
girl. And when they had laid her away and the funeral was over, 



the head of the weeping child was pillowed on a breast as motherly 
and full of tenderness for the little orphan as that of any wother 
for her own. Alice remembered the year that she spent in the home 
of Mrs. Barlow as one of the happiest in her life, and every vacation 
of the school to which she was sent, was looked forward to with the 
anticipation of all the happiness and joy that children experience 
whose homes are full of sunshine, made so by parents whose chief 
delight is the happiness of their children. In a way, Alice learned 
to reflect in her own life the qualities of her adopted mother, and 
when the lesson hours were over, the other girls at the institution 
knew that Alice would have a programme ready for their enjoy- 
ment; and when visitors at the institution were shown through 
the cottages occupied by the girls, her bright, cheery face, anima- 
ted ways, and quick intelligence won for her many compliments, 
and many times she had heard remarks made expressive of sur- 
prise that one without sight could be so light hearted and could 
accomplish so much. 

But there were sad days in store for Alice. For even before 
she had finished her school days, good Mrs. Barlow had been strick- 
en down with pneumonia and her poor invalid mother had survived 
her only a few weeks. And when vacation day came round again 
Alice, for the first time in her life, realized what it was to be friend- 
less and alone. When all the girls had left the cottage in joyous 
anticipation of holiday pleasures, she had gone up into her room, 
and, throwing herself upon her cot, had sobbed and sobbed as 
though her heart would break, until wearied by her grief she had 
fallen asleep. Here she was found by the matron, who seemed to 
realize for the first time that Alice had not gone with the others. 
Leaving her to sleep on, she called several of the teachers who were 
busy getting ready to depart and told them of Alice's friendless 
condition. A rather hurried consultation was held and it was fi- 
nally determined that she should accompany Miss Travis to her 
home. Miss Travis was a prim, precise maiden lady, answering 
in every particular the attributes of a born teacher. Whatever 
she did, she did from a sense of duty; duty had been held up before 
her in her New England home ever since the first day she attended 
Sabbath-School, until it had come to be the moving spring of her 
existence. Therefore, when it appeared that neither the matron 
nor any of the other teachers were situated so as to offer an asylum 
to Alice during the vacation, her sense of duty had made her vol- 
unteer to take charge of the friendless girl — at least, on this oc- 
casion. And so it came about that Alice accompanied Miss Travis 
to her home; and, although the Travis people in their way were 
kind and considerate, Alice somehow couldn't help"" feeling that 
she was in the way. She was sure'^that the''family'*expcrienced"'a 
sense of relief when she felt their^coropany and^went'up to her 


room, where she spent the most of her time alone. Sometimes she 
had followed the path which lead down into the orchard back of 
the house, and found herself alone with the birds chirping overhead 
in the trees and the busy hum of insect life about her, broken only 
by the occasional bleating of a lamb in a distant pasture. Here 
she would indulge in a dream of the past, and thus enjoy over again 
the days she had so happily spent in the home of Mrs. Barlow. 
And, sometimes, in one of these day dreams she would picture the 
meeting of her two mothers in their home above and wonder if 
they were looking down upon her. Oh, so lonely now in her dark- 
ness! — and then she would so long to be with them. But the va- 
cation days were over at last. How long they seemed! — and she 
was indeed glad to get back and banish her sorrow by hard work. 
And now she was about to reap her reward, for of all who were to 
take part in the exercises of the graduating day she would be sin- 
gled out as the valedictorian of her class. 

Stoneville was a typical New England village. It consisted 
of a meeting-house, a blacksmith shop, Higgs & Co's. general store, 
over which was the town hall, and about twenty houses in sight, 
including Schneiher's Tavern, where the hard fisted farmers and 
their hired men were wont to quaff liqued inspiration, talk politics 
and exchange neighborly greetings. 

There were those in Stoneville who regarded Schneider's 
Tavern as an open gate to perdition, and only approached it when 
they were compelled to do so to hunt up Mike McCarthy, the vil- 
lage blacksmith, who divided his time between his shop and the 
tavern bar room. Mike, who took a daily paper, was at once the 
fountain of knowledge, and the village oracle. When he was not 
surrounded at his shop by a group of admirers, listening to words 
of wisdom and prophecy, uttered while one hand worked the bel- 
lows and the other poked the fire of his forge and emphasized by 
his hammer, as it smote the red hot iron upon the anvil, he was sure 
to be found holding forth in the aforesaid bar room to a knot of 
wood choppers and loungers who were always to be found in greater 
or less numbers. 

Deacon Wilson was waiting at the shop for Mike to finish shoe- 
ing his horses and a number of the tavern frequenters had dropped 
in to hear the discussion, which they knew would be sure to take 
place between Mike and the deacon, on the latest topic of interest 
to the town folk. 

"I tell ye, " said Mike, "its a blasted shame to be sinding that 
swate, purty faced blind gurrel to the town house. Why there 
be'nt a woman in tha town thot can hold a candle to her for eddi- 
cation and refinement. Arrah! but it was an unlucky day for her 


whin Maggie Barlow died. Shure Maggie was one of the salt of 
the earth. " 

"But what else could we do?" said the deacon, who was also 
the first selectman of the town. "She had no living relatives that 
we could hear of and as the town was liable for her support, there 
was no other course to pursue. " 

"Will, I don't know as there was, but if I had the niakin' of 
the law, I'm thinkin' I'd find some other way. Now there was Jim 
Brady thot came out of States prison after serving three years for 
stealing a harse from ould Simpson, thot got a start be the help 
of the Prison Association; and ye know as well as I do, that it made 
a man of him after all. And why there should be an association 
to help discharged convicts and nary a one to give a poor blind gurl 
like that a lift until she be in the way of doing something for her- 
self, wid thot foin eddication of hers, beats all my calculations. 
It was only last night thot Molly, thot's my daughter you know, 
was tellin' me thot Miss Brainard could play the pianny enough 
sight better than Betsy Perkins, who makes her livin' givin' music 
lessons, and if I'd been first selectman, or the deacon of a church, 
I'd a found some way to give that gurl a dasant home, until she'd 
a chance to see what she could do for herself, as a teacher or some- 
thing loike thot. " 

"It's always easier to say what a'ou would do than it is 
to do it, Mr. McCarthy. The selectmen certainly would not have 
stood in the way of any one offering Miss Brainard a home, if they 
had chosen to do so. " 

The deacon intended this for a home thrust, but Mike was 
equal to the occasion. 

" Faith, and the purty creature would have been very welcome, 
, but it's not the likes of the home I could give her thot would do 
her any good. Shure ye know will enough thot a music teacher 
wid headquarters at Michael McCarthy's would stand no bether 
chance of teaching music to the aristocracy than she would wid 
her headquarters in the poorhouse. " 

On his way home the deacon pondered over what the black- 
smith had said, and he, too, wondered why philanthrophy, which 
established and maintained schools for the blind, should stop short 
just at that critical period, when the homeless and friendless blind, 
leaving the institutions full of ambition and hope, launched their 
frail barks upon the waters of an unknown and untried sea. 

He remembered that after his son Ned had graduated from 
Harvard and finished his studies ifi the medical school, it was more 
than a year before his income as a physician was sufficient to main- 
tain him. The sad look of despair that came over the face of Alice 
Brainard when she was told she must go to the poorhouse haunted 

- --^ TALKS AND TALES. 11 

He was a kind hearted man in his way, but somehow he had 
learned to hide his better feehngs from those who depended upon 
the town for support, and he unconscionsly hardened his nature 
to such an extent that the kind husband, generous father and good 
deacon, became flint as a selectman. Whether this was due to the 
commendation and praise that he received from tax payers at town 
meetings for so managing the town affairs since he had held the 
office that the taxes were less than they had been known to be for 
many years, was the incentive for this heart hardening process, 
was one of the thoughts that now occupied his mind. Before he 
reached home he had resolved to see if something could not be done 
to rescue this cultivated and accomplished young lady from pass- 
ing the remainder of her life in an atmosphere such as is to be found 
in every country poorhouse, which, in addition to being an asylum 
for those whose poverty has been brought about by dissipation and 
vice, almost always used as a lodging house for tramps and other 
■0-agabonds. When he asked the question how he should feel if he 
knew that by some turn of fortune's wheel one of his daughters, 
left alone in the world, blind and destitute, should be compelled 
to pass her life in such a place, the nobler nature within him was 
stirred, and he again resolved that he would do something — he 
was not quite sure what — to rescue Alice Brainard. 


An onlooker in one of the most frequented cafes on the Rue 
de St. Nicholas on any Monday night could have seen men to a 
considerable number pass behind a screen at the rear end of a long 
room filled with round tables and chairs and the usual furnishings 
of an apartment devoted to lunches served with wine and other 
stimulating drinks. If he had been observing, he would have noted 
that these men were invariably of the Russian type ; for in an upper 
chamber, reached by a staircase the opening to which was con- 
cealed by the screen, a group of exiled Russian Nihilists were wont 
to assemble at stated intervals. Further inquiry would have as- 
certained the fact that the proprietor of the cafe was also an ex- 
iled Russian. Seated around one of the tables in the dining room 
were four men who, after being served with food and wine, had lin- 
gered some half hour or more as if waiting for some purpose not 
yet apparent. At length one of the men who had disappeared 
back of the screen reappeared, and going directly to thet able where 
the four men were seated, spoke to them in a low voice. Shortly 
thereafter the group arose, and mingling for a time with the other 
occupants of the room, smoking and engaging in conversation, 
first with one and then with another, they in their turn also dis- 
appeared behind the screen, and thus it was that Ergonsorat and 
three of his guests were admitted to the secret council of the Ni- 
hiHt' exiles. It was not until all four of these men had assembled 


in the ante room of the council chamber that they were admitted, 
and then only as visitors; for Ergonsorat himself, after locating 
the meeting place of the Nihilists and learning through an old ac- 
quaintance the names of the officers of the organization, had re- 
quested a conference, stating that it was not his intention or the 
intention of his associates to become members of the organization 
with the right to participate in its secret meetings until their po- 
sition and intentions had been clearly stated. But he asked that 
an opportunity be given him and his three companions to make 
a statement, and after each had bound himself by a solemn pledge 
not to reveal the time, place and character of these meetings to any 
person, they had been admitted in the manner described. As 
they were ushered into the main apartment, its occupants, about 
twenty in number, arose and the president of the society intro- 
duced the guests at the same time inviting them to take seats that 
had been propided for them on the raised platform upon which 
was placed a chair and table for the use of the presiding officer. 
After the membesi' of the society had resumed their seats, the presi- 
dent invited Ergonsorat to address them, and Ergonsorat, begin- 
ning with his life at the Dorpat University, faithfully related all 
that the reader is familiar with and finished by reading his father's 
letter. Without making further comment, he resumed his seat 
and for a few minutes thereafter complete silence reigned. At 
length one of the members arose and addressed the president 

"I have been much interested and impressed by what I have 
heard, but should like very much to hear more. M. Ergonsorat 
has given us an insight into the character and wishes of Alexander 
IIL that should make all well wishers of our country desire that 
he be given a fair trial, and the words of M. ErgonsoratkofE to his 
son, our honored guest, are worthy of careful consideration. I 
know I voice the sentiments of every member of this society when 
I affirm that we bear no malice in our hearts to the Czar of Russia 
as a man, and that we are moved only by our love for the land that 
gave us birth to desire freedom for its people and deliverance from 
tyranny and oppression. And if we are convinced that Alexander 
in. has this end only in view, I for one am ready, to call him 

Others followed the first speaker in the expression of similar 

Ergonsorat was about to address the president, when M. 
Slavonivich, whose father, mother and two brothers had died on 
their journey as convicts to the mines of Siberia, owing to the brutal 
treatment and exposure they had undergone, arose and pointing 
to a banner that hung on the wall at the back of the president, ex- 
claimed : 


"Mr. President, I haVe listened with growing indignation to 
what my brother members of this society have said, and I have 
a resolution that I wish to offer. " 

His index finger still pointed at the banner, which, on a dark 
blue background, bore the representation of a lion couchant and 
the inscription, in flaming scarlet, "Let tyrants beware. 

In a voice surcharged with feeling he proceeded. "I move 
you, sir, that we substitute for yon Hon a dog licking the hand of 
its master in the act of lashing it, and for the inscription, "Smite 
on for we are craven curs, not men. " 

Amid the silence that followed, when M. Slavonivich had taken 
his seat, Ergonsorat arose and said. 

"Mr. President, I can fully smypathize with my brother who 
has just spoken, for when my heart was filled with bitterness to- 
wards the man I held accountable for the suffering, misery and 
death of my dear mother and honored father, I was ready to strike 
down the Czar with my own hands, but the message came to me 
from the graves of my beloved parents, was dehvered to me, as 
I believe, providentially in time to stay my hand. I bring that 
message to you, my brothers together with the revelation of the 
real character of the man whose life I would have taken, and I 
mistake your motives if they are not such as are worthy of men 
imbued with lofty patriotism that places love of country above the 
spirit of revenge or retahation for wrongs suffered and endured, 
for which the Czar is accountable only because he is an integral 
part of a machine, without a soul. Bear in mind my brothers, 
that Alexander II L did not make this machine and that, though 
theoretically his will is law, practically his power is limited so that 
were he to go directly counter to the settled policy and practice 
of the nobiHty, the machine of which he is the supposed master, 
would crush out his Ufe as remorslessly as it crushes out the Hves 
of so many of our countrymen. 

"I am here to testify, and have brought these witnesses here, 
(pointing to his three companions) to verify that the nian who is 
now Czar in Russia is as desirous to remodel this machine so that 
it shall serve and not oppress his people, as any one ^ of you my 
brothers, and I appeal to you to give him a fair chance. " 

As M. Ergonsorat ceased speaking and resumed his seat, 
Slavonivich sprang to his feet, exclaiming excitedly — "K this 
man's counsel is to be accepted what is to become of the "Aven- 
ger" for the completion of which so many of us have sacrificed 
our savings, and to what purpose have we labored these many 
years ? " 

These words brought a dozen members of the organization to 
their feet exclaiming. "Fool!" "Madman!" "He has lost his 



wits!" Whereupon, the chairman rapped vigorously for order, 
and, rising to his feet, reminded Slavonivich that strangers were 
present and that he was violating his oath of secrecy; whereupon 
Ergonsorat assured the President that the words of Slavonivich 
so far as he and his companions were concerned, would be as though 
they had never been spoken; that with his permission, they would 
now withdraw. 

•^ Wit and Humor. J^ 

Some time ago the town of Whatley offered ten cents bounty 
on woodchucks, tails. Lately the town treasurer has been away. 
During his absence mischievous boys have passed in 1,400 tails 
of chipmunks on the treasurer's wife, for which she has paid the 
bounty of ten cents each. 

At a dinner party the coachman had come in to help wait on 
table. Among the guests was a very deaf old lady. Coachman, 
in handing vegetables, comes to the deaf party. 

"Peas, mum?" says Jehu. 

No answer. 

"Peas, mum?" (louder). 

Still no answer from the deaf party, but, placing her ear 
trumpet to her ear, lifts it interrogatively at the man, who glancing 
down and seeing the tube, ejaculates: 

"Well, it's a rum way of taking them, but I suppose she^^liked 
it. Here goes!" and down went the peas into the ear trumpet, 

—Tit Bits. 

"Ma," said a discouraged little Maple avenue urchin, "I ain't 
going to school any more." 

"Why, dear?" tenderly inquired his mother. 

"'Cause tain't no use. I can never learn to spell. The 
teacher keeps changing words on me all the time." 

An Englishman footing it through part of Scotland with rod 
and reel came upon a tiny loch of just the proper sort, to his mind, 
for fish to inhabit. 

Patiently he fished for three hours, moving stealthily from 
spot to spot along the borders of the little pond, but no success 
came to him. At last he accosted a boy who had stood for ten 
minutes watching him, with a mixture of surprise and curiosity 
on his shrewd face. 

"My little lad," said the Englishman, "can you tell me 
whether there are any fish in this pond? " 

"If there be ony they must be vera wee ones, sir," returned 
the boy, "for there was nae water here until it rained yesterday." 

Long Pants. 

I uster be a reglar kid, 'bout two feet high, I guess, 
A-wearin' bibs and aprons and a reglar baby dress. 
My ma she uster make me wear my hair in them there curls — 
I guess she didn't know how fellers hate to look like girls. 
But now you bet I'm growing up, and got a little chance; 
I ain't no kid no longer — I'm 
wearin ' 



I uster be a baby — when I got a smash I cried, 
But I'm a-learnin' how to fight — the fellers uster ride 
All over me and knock me down and call me "mother's own," 
I tell you now they ain't so gay — they jes' let me alone; 
'Cause 'bout a week ago I licked Ned Brown and Billy Vance — 
I ain't no baby any more — I'm 



I uster kinder hate the girls — I wouldn't ever play 
Er talk with them er walk with them, but now it ain't that way. 
I'm jes' a little gone, the fellers say, on Susie White; 
She's got such pretty eyes — and say, her smile is out o' sight. 
Last week I took her with me to a reg'lar grown-up dance ; 
I bet she likes me better since I'm 



— Index. 

Successful Blind People. 

" Mr. Axel Steele Robinson was born in Prattsville, N. Y., is fifty years 
of age, and without a family. His early years were spent on his father's 
farm. In 1877 he went into newspaper work and was for several years ed- 
itor of the "Andes Recorder" at Andes, N. Y. Later, he sold the pa- 
per and reengaged in farming and summer boarding in the Catskills. 

In 1882 he lost his sight as the result of an attack of inflammatory 
rheumatism For several years after this he devoted himself to litera- 
ture. During this time he wrote a scientific work which has not yet been 
published. This was written without the aid of an amanuensis, and ten 
chapters of it were written without being able to refer to a single sen- 
tence which had been previously written, and yet when copied there was 
not a disconnected thought or a broken sentence. 

Eleven years ago he began active business , engaging in the butter tra- 
de, in Springfield, Mass. , delivering his goods to a large and selected list 
of customers, many times being on as many as fifty to seventyfive streets 
in a single day without a guide. During all this time he has never met 
with an accident, and can go without hesitation ,to any part of the city. 

Four years ago he began the erection of a building, at 102 Greene St., 
Springfield, Mass. which was accomplished by his own labors, except 
laying the foundation ,he himself digging the cellar, putting up the frame 
and covering it, including the roofing. The building is thoroughly 

substantial and 's finished within in naturalwoods. The counters, shel- 
ving, refrigerator, and inside doors are also of his own workmanship. 

The building is a marvel of convenience, and was entirely of his own 
planning. The workmanship excites the admiration of all who see it, 
and the most remarkable thing about it is that Mr. Robinson never worked 
at the trade a day of his. life. 

He attends to his own buying and selling, and conducts his business 
without difficulty. He carries a full line of general groceries, and has a 
paying trade. 

Recently he publihed a small volume of poems entitled "Thistledown' '. 
One of his poems apears in anotlier column of the current number. 

Mr Robinson is a member of the Asbury M. E. church, and has been 
for a number of years, the teacher of the Senior Class of the Sundy School, 

Ode to the Spirit of Blindness, 

Axel Steele Robinson. 

Thou spirit of darnkess, and chaos, and dread, 

The realms where thou reignest are realms of the dead; 

Not the slain of the nations on sea and on land, 

By tempest and sword, or by shadowy ^^and — 

But within thy dark kingdom thy reign is supreme 

Over mountain and valley, lake, forest and stream; 

The sun rolls in darkness his courses on high. 

And quenched are the night lamps hung out in the sky; 

The sea in its grandeur, and skies overhead. 

Are lost in the shadows and nature is dead. 

Thou hast walled in thine empire, and sealed is thy gate 

And thy reign is as cruel as the fetters of fate. 

Thou art greedy for conquest, thy captives are led 

Like captives of war from the field of the dead; 

Thou bindest with chains to thy chariot wheel, 

And knowest no mercy, thy heart is of steel; 

Thou touchest the brave and the fair with thy breath; 

And turnest their lives into channels of death; 

Thou leadest the child, with the matron and maid, 

And the man on whose strength all their hopes have been staid. 

But remember, dark Spirit when counting th}' gain,. 

That thou boldest man only upon thine own plain; 

With God who creates, man is closely akin. 

Thou bindest the outer man, not the within. 

And know, thou invisivle Spirit of Night, 

That a spirit once touched b}' the Spirit of Light 

Is immortal and henceforth a child of the day. 

And has light in his dwelling, nor bends to thy sway 

For man is a part — a soul born of Soul, 

An Ego eternal thou canst not controll. 

Though thou bindest all nature, yet man is not bound; 

To thy power there's a limit, but man has God crowned ; 

And the Kngdom of Thought is he place of his throne. 

And in realms of the heart is thy sceptre unknown. 

God's best gifts to man are safe out of thy scope 

And sweet waters flow from the fountain of hope. 


Now Spirit of Night if thou walkest with me, 
"We will not be at war but my slave shalt thou be; 
I will make thee to serve, and to open the door 
To mysterious regions, and while I explore, 
Thou shalt still the earth's voices, and help me to hold 
The wealth I there gather more precious than gold. 
[^Thou boldest the keys to the mysteries of thought 

But the price has been paid for the things I have sought, 
And for Spirit and Soul claim the treasures of truth 
And if thou withholdest, I warn thee, forsooth, 
From thy grasp I will wrest them, and laugh thee to scorn; 
Thou Deamon of Darkness! thy power has been shorn. 

Springfield, Mass. 

His Innings 

His Reverence: "Yes, I knew them both as boys. The one is a 
clever, handsome lad; the other a plodder — a worker. The clever 
lad was left behind in the race of life ; he is still poor. The worker 
was able to leave his widow over sixty thousand pounds. " 

Host: "Yes; I heard yesterday that the bright lad is going to 
marry the widow! " 

—Tit Bits. 

Motorman's Persiflage, 

As a trolly car approached an intersecting road a few days ago 
a man who was struggling under tlife weight of a well-filled bag was 
noticed a few hundered feet away frantically signaling the motor- 
man to stop. The car was brought to a standstill, and was halted 
for a full minute until the would be passenger arrived. 

"You don't care if I leave this on the platform, do you?" he 
asked of the motorman as he threw down a large bag of potatoes. 

"Oh, no, " repHed the man at the controller. "There's a man 
with a ton of coal going to get on when we get to the top of the hill, 
but I guess there will be room for us all. " 


Alice's Club. 

A Child's Story 

"Father, father please, wait for me'" called Alice Mead, all out oj 
breath with running' to meet her father. 

Father heard and stopped just as he reached the piazza steps, saying 
"good afternoon, little lady I Why didn't you make father hear before, so 
we might have walked up the street together?" "I did try very hard," 
said Alice. Then she took his outstretched hand, and they climbed the 
steps and sat down beside mother. 

"Back i^gain, girlie?" asked mother. "Did you have a nice time?" 

"Where have you been?" inquired father. 

"Down to Bertha Kobbe's. Our club held its first meeting there to- 

day, and we had a lovely time, mother," answered the little girl, with a 

"Your club? my dear little girl, do you mean to tell me you belong to 
a club?" exclaimed father, with the merry look in his eyes that Alice 
loved to see. 

"Why, yes, father, I thought everybody did." Mother and father 

both laughed as Alice continued: "You do, and mother has two or 
three, haven't you mother?" 

"Yes, dear, fully as many as that," answered mother and she smiled 
as she thought of the many societies of which she was a member. 

"I thought you did; then Rob belongs to a baseball club, and sister 
is going to join a ping-pong club. So somebody is alwaj's going to 
something, and I just wished that I could have a club too. One day I 
told teacher so, and she said, 'do you? that's the very thing; we will have a 
Good Manners Club. ' " 

Father was listening hard now. "Good Manners Club! what is that?" 

"Don't yo'u know father, lots of girls in our school forget to say 
thank you and please when we ought. And sometimes we just say plain 
what, instead of what, father." 

"Yes little maid I have noticed that," answered father; "and it is 
the same way with yes and no." 

"Yes," said the young club member, adding, as she remembered her 
club "Yes, father, I mean. Miss Knox is always telling us about those 
things, and the boys about lifting their hats and about being polite to the 
girls, and ,oh, ever so many things! So she saitl we would have a club." 

"To whip you with when you are not polite?" quizzed father? 

"No, father," laughed Alice "You know I didn't mean that. I mean 


a real truly club, with member like yours and mother's; only all we have to 
do to join ours is to sig-n a little pledg-e like this: 'l promise to try to be 
polite.' And once a week we meet and tell how we have done." 

"Of course you all succeed, don't you?" inquired mother. 

"No, mother, we don't!" sighed the little girl. 

"How do you know about the others?" was the next question. 

"I'll tell you hovi^ it is, father. Miss Knox told us that every one who 
failed once or twice, or even a great many times through the week could 
bring a penny to the next meeting if she wanted to. The pennies are to 
help buy something more for our Christmas box. And what do you 
s'pose? To — day every boy and girl there brought one! And Henry Pag- 
et — you know him, don't you, father?" 

"Oh, yes, I know Henry What happened to him? Did he forget his 

"Oh no" he brought his penny, but he asked Miss Knox what it 
means to be polite, and said he couldn't, because he didn't know what it 
means " 

"What did Miss Knox tell him, dear?" 

"She said the best definition she knew is the old rime — shall I speak 
it for you? 

'True politeness is to say 

The kindest thing in the kindest way.' " 

Father kissed her as he said, "I think j^our club is better than some of 
the grown — up ones." 

And mother added, "So do I" 


Oh, white man hab a heap o' sene; 

He read a book all day; 
He's alius worryin' 'bout expense 

An' nebber stop to play. 
De rabbit runs; de squirrel climb 

From Spring time till de Fall; 
Dey seem to hab a happy time 

Wifout no brains at all. 

De white man figger all day long 

As bothered as kin be; 
De wild bird sings a little song 

An' gits his house rent free. 
Dis ol' book learnin' doesn' fit 

De pace dat I has set. 
It 'pears like de mo' brains you git 

De mo' you's gwine to fret 

Public Opinion and Current Comment. 


Though the generally accepted belief that the Russian advance is the 
cause of the war between Japan and Russia is undoubtedly true , there is 
with equal certainty an underlying cause which lies outside of either of 
the combatants and which gives to the entire struggle an international as 
pect. This has been treated by Prof. Albert Bushnell Hart, of Harvard 
in an article in Harper's Weekly, which is so comprehensive in its view 
in this respect that it should be widely considered. For ,as he claims, 
the whole world knows that though the struggle for the moment is be- 
tween Russia and Japan, the underlj'ing stake is the future of China, 
and that is a question which is neither Asiatic nor European, but must 
be settled through world diplomacy and by world powers. 

After calling to mind the fact that the Battle of Manila Bay and tha t 
which followed it made us a partner in Eastern affairs, and rcecalling the 
significant march of the allied troops to Pekin, he points out that the 
United States, Great Britain, Germany and Russia are the four Western 
powers of the world; China and Japan are the two Eastern powers. 
France and Austria, in the long run, will have no more influence in the po- 
litical developement of Asia than Persia and Siam in the destinies of Eu- 
rope; and unless new German or Anglo Saxon powers spring up in Af- 
rica or Atistralia, the number of dominant nations is already made up. 
Of these six two are engaged in hostilities at this moment three of the oth- 
ers look on with uneasiness, and one of them, China, with dread appre- 

After setting forth the desire of the Powers for the partition of China 
and leading up to a conviction that it can not be successfully done, Prof. 
Hart continues: "This conviction of the physical impossibility of tearing 
China into fragments immensely strengthens the insistence of the United 
States that China shall not be nominally divdided into spheres of com- 
mercial influence, that in all parts of the empire there shall be an equal 
privilege of trade and intercourse, and here comes in the great solicitude 
of the administration over the present war. 

"A glance at the map will show that it is impossible for Japan and 
Russia to collide on land without endangering China. The Russians 
are at present the most expansive people in the world; their vast country 
though situated on two seas, is remote from the great thoroughfares. 
For centuries thej' strove to push their way westward along the Balticf 
for centuries they have sought to take Constantinople, and thus reach the 


Mediterranean. Beaten back from both points by western Europe, they 
have at last turned eastward, and in a century and a half of steadj'^ pro- 
gress have forced their way to the Pacific, by seizing- the northern part of 
the Amur valley and the coast of Vladivostok, where the}' hoped to find a 
Pacific port. That port is not only subject to ice; it is not upon the o- 

pen sea; the road to the Pacific is through straits flanked by the Japan- 
ese on one side and Korea on the other. Hence the desperate efforts of 
Russia to gain access to the Yellow Sea through the Chinese province of 
Manchuria, which reaches from the Amur to the Gulf of Pechili; the rail 
road route to Vladivostok leads through that province, and by a compar- 
avively short spur Port Arthur is reached. To the Russian mind the fu- 
ture of Siberia, central Asia, and Russia itself depends upon the holding 
of that port as an addition to the less favorably situated Vladivostok 
It is very much such a case as the annexation by the United States of Cal 
fornia, after we had obtined a hold on the Pacific coast through the acquisi 
tion of the State of Oregon 

"The difficult}' of the process is that itjpractically involves the military 
occupation of Manchuria The Siberian Railroad is a great natural high 
way , which, with its terminus , cannot be left, according to Russian ideas, 
without protection by troops, and our experience in Panama has shown 
how difficult it is to hold a railroad without holding the countrj' through 
which it runs. 

"But Port Arthur is situated very near Pekin, the capital of China; 
and the United States has taken the old and irrevocable step of closing a 
commercial treaty with China under which Manchuria is included, and of 
dispatching consuls'to Mukden and other places occupied or likely to be 
occupied by Russian forces. The strain here is the same as in the Bal- 
kan provinces, nominallj^ a part of the Turkish Empire, and receiving 
consuls accredted to Turkey ,althuogh that power really has little au- 
thority over them. 

"The situation in Japan is one of the miracles of the world's history, 
fifty years ago a feudal monarchy in its customs, its wars, and its arts, 
and very like the Europe of six centuries ago , Japan has become a mod- 
ern world power. The just ambition of the Japanese is to controll Korea, 
which bounds their great interior sea to the westward, and which ex- 
tends north almost to the port of Vladivostok. 

"An overpeopled and intensely ambitious Japan country, must either 
enlarge or decline. The published statements of the two rival foreign 
offices show very clearly that the Japanese demand a free hand in Korea, 
a country desperately misgoverned, which would clearly profit by Japan- 
ese occupation; and that the Russians, though inclined to concede a part 
of Korea, would not consent to the fortification of the straits, which are 
their principal outlet from Vladivostok to the open sea, and would give 
no guarantee against the eventual annexation of Manchuria. By a turn, 

24 TALKS AND TALES. — ^-^^ ~ 

therefore, which was not a part of the original contention between the 
two parties, Japan has come to stand for the integrity of China, includ- 
ing Manchuria. 

"Japan in the late Chinese war took Port Arthur, but was compell- 
ed to give it up bj' the "Western Powers. A second time Japan is besieg- 
ing the same port, but if she takes it she is pledged not to hold it for her 
own, although if Russia takes Korea or a part of it, she is under no slich 
obligation. A Japanese control of Korea does not in itself militate a- 

gainst the interest of the Western Powers, for at best it would be only a 
Japanese tete-du-pont on the mainland. The object of the Russians is to 
enlarge territorial claims already thought too large, and they are fighting 
as they fought against Charled XII of Sweden and againSt the allies in 
the Crimenan war, for an outlet to the sea. 

"While this struggle is going on almost in sight of Pekin, the Chinese 
Empire lies distressed but inert; and John Hay, whose claim to be the 
greatest American diplomat could be disputed by none save John Quincy 
Adams, directs his efforts towards preserving peace in China which is ne- 
cessary if there is to be peace in Europe and if there is to be serenity 
in the United States " 

And it is noticeable that lynching with circumstances of savage cruel- 
ty, is pratctised in the North under circumstance of lighter provocation 
than in the South An ordinary murder such as made trouble at Spring- 
field, would not as a rule, have been followed by a lynching in the South 
where an assault upon a woman is deemed the only justification for the 
irregular mode of punishment. Delaware, Pennsylvania , Connecticut, 
Massachusetts, New York, Illinois and Indiana — these and other States 
by their resort to lynching confess to a sentiment which demands except- 
ional treatment of a race favored by the constitution as amended after 
the Civil War. — Baltimore Sun. 

The unkind feeling of the North as manifested toward the negro is not^ 
confined alone to the laboring classes. It prevades all conditions of 
men. And when it is aroused so that a mob springs into being it par- 
takes of the fierceness of a wolf. The South has been unjustly criticized 
of lynching negroes, and when everything is considered, the proportion 
of negro population in the two sections, the number and character of cri- 
mes committed by them and for which they are put to the torch, it will be 
seen that "barbarism" characterizes the Northern lynching as much and 
often more than it does that in the South. — Memphis Commercial App- 

As a movement for putting an earlj' stop to this Aisatic war we know 
nothing that would be more effective than a general coal strike — C hica- 
go Tribune. 


Let us have a navy big enough to handle the burdens we have assumed; 
but let us not open our arms and load our guns for more -Cincinnatti En- 

An emissary of the Universal Peace Union has gone to the front to ask 
Russia and Japan to quit. But neither Russia nor Japan hold a working 
card in any peace union. — Denver Republican 

The first state to instruct delegates to vote for President Roosevelt in the 
Republican National Conventoin is Kansas This state also led in forcing 
the nomination of Mr. Roosevelt for Vice President. The record is one of 
which any commonwealth might be proud — Kansas City Star 

Thefts of Government timber in Colorado alone now amounts to mill- 
ions of dollars An adequate force of troops in the Government reserves could 
be maintained at a cost of no more than it takes to keep them in such un- 
necessary places as Leavenworth :md Atlanta. Why not put our home sol- 
diers where they are needed? — Brooklyn Eagle. 

While it is yet early, perhaps, to determine the work of the various 
correspondents that are operating with such disastrous consequences to 
the armies and navies of Japan and Russia in the Far East it is' compar- 
atively easy, by elimination, to determine the distinguished unworth of 
some of the gentlemen of the qulil. For spectacular prevarication the 
British correspondents have almost made that triumph of yellow journal- 
ism, Douglas Storyism, a venial sin. — San Frai-Ci^CJ ^. I. '"* 

Shall Niagara Falls be distroyed? Several Canadian and New York 
companies organized to make use of the water power at Niagara Falls for 
the generation of electricity have already obtained charters that enable 
them to build works which, when operated at their full capacity, will di- 
vert one third of the entire volume of the river above the falls. A New 
York corporation is now asking the Legislature to give it unlimited 
rights to take and use the water. The company's demands are so large 
that the commissioners of the Niagara Reservation, or park, have felt 
compelled to issue an urgent remonstrance on the ground that the bill 
threatens the very existance of the falls. — Boston Herald. 

Who ever it was that got up this report in the Post-office Department 
was certainly an artist. He connected about one hundred and fifty Repre- 
sentatives and some Senators with the department in one way or another as 
asking for favors for constituents, and the manner in which the story was 
sent out to the country made it appear that all of these members of Con- 
gress were "grafters." — Philadelphia Inquirer. 

A member of Congress is supposed to look after his constituents at 
Washington. When he is requested to lay a petition before a depart- 

ment it is not only his right but his duty to do so. He has no right to 
ask that the operation of a department rule shall be suspended to the ad- 
vantage of his constituents, but he can with perfect propriety make an 
inquiry for the purpose of ascertaining whether an injustice has been done 
— Milwaukee Sentinal. 



The opponents of Mr. Smoot are attempting to show that, as an apostle 
of the Mormon Church, his vote is controlled by that organization, and 
that, consequentl3% he ought not to sit in the Senate. There is no need to 
prove any specific charge. If tw^o thirds of the Senators should decide 
that the country regards the apostle's presence in the upper house as an 
affont to the nation they can expel him without more ado. — Kansas City 

The Mormon missionaries know and do their business. They are 

making converts all over the world and have been for 40 years or more. 
In addition to this missionary propaganda Mormonism is growng faster 
than other sects by the natural propaganda, owing to its "peculiar insti- 
tution" of pol3'gam3'. Witness President Smith's 42 children. It becom- 
es evident that its danger is growing and that the sooner a conclusive 
stop is put to the pretention of a sect of law breakers to be recognized as 
one of the Unted States of America the better it will be for the American 
people in the present and the future. — New York Times. 

Away back before the Civil War the Republican conventions were res- 
olving against the "twin relics of barbarism," slavery and polygamy. 
Slavery has been abolished through a costlv' war, but, according tp the 
testimonj' before a Senate committee, poh'gamj' is still flourishing and 
spreading. It is by no means confined to Utah. It is plentiful nearlj- 
all over the Pacific coast. — Cincinnati Inquirer 

How Jack Simpson Found Promotion. 


" Don't you like meat now, Daddy?" 

Jack Simpson smiled wearily at the question of his little daught er, 
Beatrice, and she prattled on without waiting for an answer. " 'Cause 
you never have any, you know; and there's hardly ever anythin' in the 
cupboard now. I wants some milk for supper; please, mamma, let me 
have some milk." 

"No, no, dearie," said Mrs. Simpson, a very young and handsome- 
looking mother; "here, have this piece of bread and a drink of water. 
Come, there's a good girl ; I must take you off to bed now. " 

Dearie was put to bed, and when they were left alone in the kitchen 
together dearie's father and mother looked earnestly into each other's 
eyes. Then dearie's father pushed a large knife across the table and 
held out both his hands. 

"Cut 'em off!" he said, hoarsely; "nobody wants 'cm. There's 
nothing for 'em to do. Cut 'em off!" 

"Don't, Jack, don't," she pleaded; "work will come and we shall 
pull round all right. For my sake, do nothing desperate. Jack. Don't 
give up hope; you will get work." 

"And where shall I get work?" he retorted, bitterly. "They have 
done with me at Fairlow's, and I've tried and tried — Heaven knows how 
I've tried! And I'm getting tired of being told there's nothing for me; 
I'm tired of seeing you getting paler and thinner" — she moved closer 
to him and ran her fingers through his thick brown hair — " and I'm tired 
of hearing our little girl ask for things, little bits o' things, we can't give 
to her. Something will have to be done. " He clenched his fist savagely. 
"Something will have to be done quickly. I can't understand Hodder; 
he plays me on and off, half promises, and then says he can't start any- 
one for weeks. And he smiles when he says it. Smiles just like he did 
when he gave me a week's notice with profound regrets, as he put it, at 
Fairlow's having no further use for my services. I hate him when I 
think of it. Only yesterday I begged of him to find me something to do, 
if only for the sake of you and the little 'un. He shook his head and said 
he was sorry, and smiled! Sometimes I think — why, what's the mat- 
ter, Jess?" 

"Nothing, dear; why do you ask?" 

"Your cheeks — they are red as poppies. They remind me of the 
old days. Ah, Jess, dear, what a sad mistake you made to marry a 
mere workman." 


"A very sad mistake indeed," she said, as she contradicted the 
words with a kiss. 

"You might have been Mrs. Who-knows-what, " he went on, half 
serious, half chaffing. 

"I'd rather be Mrs. T-know-who," she answered, returning his fond 
look with interest; and then, timidly, "Jack, dear, I can't bear to see 
you looking so wild and reckless as you did a short time ago. A little 
patience will surely bring us into the sunshine again. Think how you 
have striven, with my poor influence, to lift yourself out of the rut. 
Why, here's Mr. Bernaby to see yovi. I wonder if he brings good news. " 

But Mr. Bernaby was in no hurry to disclose news of any kind whilst 
she was present, so she left them for a while to themselves. Her de- 
parture was evidently a relief to the visitor. He nervously placed four 
shillings on the corner of the table and said that he was sorry he would 
not be bringing any more relief from the club. It had been stopped at 
the last meeting. Couldn't say as to how his mates had voted against 
the small weekly subscription they had been giving. Couldn't say that 
he liked the job of carrying such disagreeable news. Could say as how 
they was all sorry, and that they hoped he would soon get another place. 
Cotild say as how it was no use trying Hodder. Could also say as how 
Hodder was slow, but he was sure and he was cttnning, and surely Jack 
Simpson had not forgotten that he, a mere sub-foreman, had carried off 
the lovely Jessie Reville from under his very manager's nose. Could 
say as how it was a very nasty, raw evening for anyone to be out, and 
that he wished him a very good-night. 

And so, when she came in, she found Jack still brooding over his 
wrongs, with a new light illuminating their cause, and wandering nearer 
and nearer towards the abyss of despair. "Jess," he said, eagerly, "I 
remember you telling me that Hodder paid you some attentions before 
we were married. Did he ever ask " 

Her cheeks turned into poppies again. "Yes," she said, "he asked 
me to marry him. I told you all about it, but you made light of it then. " 

"Of course," he said, "and it never once occurred to me that it 
might have touched him seriously. Besides, it is over five years ago, 
and yet his lonely, morose nature would perhaps never forget. Jess" — 
he waved his arm vaguely round the almost empty room — "Jess, can 
this be a deliberate scheme of revenge?" 

She nodded her head, whispering, "I'm sure of it. I felt sure of it 
from the first," and his eyes blazed up with the desire to strike back. 

" Revenge, " he said slowly, "is a game for two. How blind I have 
been! I might have known. You knew, Jess. You knew, and you 
let me go to him and plead for your sake and the little 'un. Knowing 
this, you let me go. " 

"Our need was so great," she answered. 


"And I," he went on, "have entrusted him with my one great hope 
— a secret even from you, Jess. I had an idea for a patent process that 
might be worth thousands to Fairlow's. In our extremity I confided 
it yesterday to Sefton Hodder, and sought his advice as to it being prac- 
ticable. He thought it would be no use; said I might leave the draw- 
ings for consideration, but felt sure they would be a failure. Of course, 
he thought they would be no use. O, fool, fool, that I was!" 

She covered her face with her hands, and he sprang up with a cry 
of astonishment. "Your ring, your wedding ring," he exclaimed; 
" where is it? " 

"I pawned it," she replied; "we must not starve. We must make 
a fight of it. Don't think it did not hurt me to part with it, but it can 
really make no difference. I pawned it two days ago and you have only 
just noticed. Don't be angry with me. Jack. Leave go my wrists; you 
hurt me." 

"What a success for him," he said gravely, "to have already re- 
moved the ring. You are right; we must make a fight of it." 

"Nothing wrong, and nothing desperate, Jack," she pleaded. 

"Nothing wrong or desperate," he promised. But there was an 
expression in his eyes she had never seen before. Later she said to him: 

"Revenge is not a game for two, dear. If it was it wovild go on 
and on without stopping. It is not even sweet as they say it is. Prom- 
ise me you will attempt no harm to Sefton Hodder. You look so queer, 
Jack. I am afraid — for you!" 

"I promise," he said. 

But in his heart he knew he lied. 

On the following night he went out about eight o'clock. She kissed 
him in the doorway and whispered again: "Nothing wrong and nothing 
desperate, Jack." and he solemnly answered: "Nothing to be ashamed 
of, Jess. " Yet a tempest of violence raged within him as he swung down 
the dark, lonely road. What his actual purpose was he could not him- 
self have told. 

One thing was uppermost in his mind — he must see Hodder at once. 
And with the four shillings that Bernaby had left he had picked up an 
ugly-looking second-hand revolver. He fingered this in his pocket as 
he went along. If it were not for the sake of Jess and the little 'un — ■ — 
No, no, he must not think of that. But he must have his drawings back 
at any cost. He almost felt elated at the task before him. It would 
be an easier fight, surely, than the fight of the past few weeks, the fight 
with those gaunt leaders to extremes — hunger and cold and despair. 

Fairlow's huge foundry, standing in the valley before him, shines 
out in a glow of its o'wn making — smoke and flame and roaring furnaces 


and towering chimneys. He has heard they are to cast the stern frame 
of a great ship between half past nine and ten. That will mean Hodder 
superintending, so that he must be on the works until a late hour. 
"Nothing to be ashamed of, Jess," he had said. But deep in his heart 
he knew that he had lied. 


Knowing the place intimately, it was an easy matter for Jack Simp- 
son to slip past the time house and into the great works of Fairlow's. 
The night was almost pitch dark, but he knew his way and never fal- 
tered. On, past the dark, closed warehouses and pattern-shops, over 
the bridge and down the railway, past huge stacks of coal and iron; now 
over a waste piece of ground scattered with giant cog-wheels, ships' an- 
chors, old boilers, cylinders, and the like. 

Hist — someone is coming this way. He dives under a wagon, 
jumps a low wall, and finds himself beside the casting shop, which seems 
to revel in the hum and throb and glow of the night's work. About 
twelve feet from the ground there are large gaps with iron bars across 
to take the place of windows. He climbs upon a heap of scrap-metal- 
and peers through one of these. It is a familiar scene to him — the long 
shop with its earthen floor littered with moulding-boxes and tools and 
strange machines. 

Here men are busy shaping the pliable clay into many fantastic 
shapes; there, fierce, rough-built fires are baking them dry in readiness 
to receive the molten steel. There is the dull thud of hammers falling 
on sand and dirt, and the shriller rattle of metals in conflict where the 
castings are being cleaned. In the centre of the shop a vast pit shows 
the upper moulded portions of the stern for a mighty ship. At the far 
end the furnaces roar like ravenous beasts as they are fed by ton after 
ton of raw ores and metals by men stripped to the waist. 

Farther on, across a platform, above and past the furnaces, is the 
office of the manager, Sefton Hodder. He has just come out, across the 
platform and down the gangway. He puts on a pair of blue glasses and 
looks into those roaring furnaces; then blows a whistle. A monstrous 
over-head crane rattles along just under the roof and lowers an enormous 
bucket-shaped cauldron beneath the level of the furnace tap. Another 
whistle, scarcely heard above the thud of hammers, and a stream of mol- 
ten steel is rushing into that gigantic bucket. A dozen workmen pre- 
pare with long iron bars to steady it. None of that white-hot liquid 
stream must escape and strike anything damp or else — 

Sefton Hodder, sharply outlined against the blinding glare of the 
molten steel, smiles grimly as the sparks fall in brilliant showers round 
hiin, and little thinks that at the moment he forms a vivid human tar- 
get. For Jack Simpson, black hatred in his heart, is glancing along the 
barrel of his revolver, with his finger trembling on the trigger and his 


soul trembling on the verge of that awful precipice, murder! An almost 
uncontrollable passion to end things then and there takes possession of 
hina. Still, better to wait a little while, and then — the top entrance, 
and face to face in his office. The drawings are there. Who can guess 
what card Hodder will play when faced with a climax? Best to come 
armed, anyway. And if the pistol has to be used, why, what a feeble 
spark it will be amidst all this roar and flame and clanging stir. How 
terrified Jess would be if Ah, he will soon be away now. 

The furnaces are empty and the bucket containing many tons of 
molten steel, is being carried over to the mould. Sefton Hodder stands 
upon an iron box about three feet from the ground level, and is ready to 
give the final order to remove the bucket plug. Then suddenly he looks 
up at the chains above and shouts with horror. One of the side pivots 
is bending, breaking. There is a wild shout froin the men as they rush 
for the door, and that mighty cauldron of hissing, seething steel turn- 
over and runs like a fiery lake on the floor. Swift as some bursting dam 
it darts its fiery way, fed deeper by the swinging bucket. Sefton Hodder 
looking which way to escape, pauses a moment too long. Like a flash 
the metal surrounds the mould he is on and he stand, as it were, on an 
iron island amid a lake of white-hot running steel. Above the noise 
and confusion he hears someone screaming: "Run for your lives." 

Run? Yes, but how can he cross this burning moat? The heat 
is terrific. He sees the steel forcing a channel down to number five pit, 
which contains water. If it reaches there — the thought sets him shiid- 
dering. Have they all escaped but him? The heat is scorching, suf- 
focating, and it will take hours for this mass of steel to cool and set — 
hours; why, long before that he will be literally baked alive. Will none 
of them come to save him? No, no; they will not risk the explosion 
until it is too late. The growing fear of a horrible death overwhelms 
him, and he screams with terror. Then someone dashes through the 
door, beats his way through the hands that try to stop him. runs nimbly 
up the foot-ladder and along the side baulks that hold the rails for the 

Look, he is clinging now to the chain. "Lower," he shouts, and 
lower he comes; down, down, until he swings as close to that terrible 
liquid bed as the man he is trying to save. "Forward!" he roars, and 
there is the click of levers, the hiss of steam, and the rattle of the pon- 
derous crane. " Hold, " he screams, as he lurches forward, seizes Hodder, 
and clings to him with wonderful strength. For a moment it, seems as 
though both must slip and crash to their doom, and then, tightly clasped 
together, rescuer and rescued are swung clear of the burning lake, and 
on into safety. And the last thing Sefton Hodder notes ere he sinks 
into unconsciousness is a confused babel of voices, and above them all 
someone loudly clamouring for cheers for brave Jack Simpson. 



For a week Jack Simpson lay delirious — a week of great anxiety 
and terrible tension for his wife. Over and over again had he gone 
through the incidents of that memorable night. In his wanderings she 
learned of the dark purpose he had brooded upon; how he had seen the 
awfid position Sefton Hodder had been placed in; how, at sight of a 
fellow-creature in such terrible danger, he had come to his normal senses 
flung the pistol from him, and resolved to save the man who had schemed 
to wreck his happiness. 

"Jess," he said, almost the first intelligent words he spoke as he 
clung to her in recognition; " I didn't do it, Jess; thank Heaven, I didn't 
do it. " 

"Hush, dear," she said, "you never could have done it; your na- 
ture would not let you. No one knows but us and the doctor that you 
were so cruelly tenipted. And we are to forget all that. Let us start 
now and never refer to it again, " 

"Daddy," cried Miss Beatrice Simpson, running to his bedside, 
"why don't you get better? There's such a lot of nice fings waiting for 
you. " 

"Yes," said her mother, "and I have a letter to read when you are 
strong enough. " 

" If it is good news, " he said, with a feeble smile, " I've the strength 
of a giant now. " 

"It is a long letter," she said, "and the doctor's orders are strict. 
But its chief contents are that Fairlow's wish to buy your new process 
and the price they offer is ;^i,5oo. They also wish to know if you will 
imdertake to put it into operation and run it at their American works 

at a salary of " She paused. 

"Don't kill me with kindness," he said. 

"Big boats go to 'Merica," interrupted Miss Beatrice, with the 
usual alertness of young eyes and young ears. 

"The letter," went on Mrs. Simpson, "is signed by Sefton Hodder. 
He deeply regrets, and is full of gratitude to you for so nobly saving his 
life. He says you would have been justified in leaving him to his fate, 
and he can never sufficiently reward you. " 

" Poor Hodder. For a moment, Jess, for just the flash of a moment, 
I leapt with exultation when I saw him doomed; my mind swung like 
a pendulum between good and evil; then — but there, we all have a 
glorious impulse sometimes! And to think, Jess, that this means a new 
start for us — a fresh start in a new country. " 

They were silent for a moment, and then they laughed quietly to- 
gether. Miss Beatrice was holding the kitten up by its paws in the cor- 
ner, and saying: "Tend to me, puss, 'cause you are going to 'Merica, 
you know. You will have to cross the sea in a big, big boat. Now, 
how long, fink you, will it take to pack our fings. 

Fashions' Fancies. 

The New Skirt Tight and ^ide at Hem — Overtrimming Popttlar 

Many of the new full skirts are being made to open over a flounced 
panel of lace or muslin. This is another revival, fashion plates of the 
forties and fifties showing gowns open in the front to reveal elaborate 
petticoats women of that period periled their preciotis eyesight to em- 
broider and embellish. Of course the fashion antedates this period. 
In one of its phases it belonged to the Directory, and went with jackets 
with wide revers opening over a frilled waistcoat, and having a jabot 
of lace at the throat. This jacket has been made recently, it its averred 
by a celebrated French dressmaker. It is always picturesque, and is 
becoming to tall slender figures. Returning to skirts, while trains are 
practically banished, except on wedding gowns, many of the new skirts 
are very long all around, lying in billows about the feet. The width 
of most of them is amazing, six yards around the hem being nothing 
unusual. The utility gown for street and ordinary wear is short. 
Triple flounces and simulated tucks made of circular folds continue 
popular. One sees fewer models in straight, full skirts, the circular 
form, tight at the hips and very wide at the hem, having gained in 
popularity. Plaits are stitched flat to aid in giving a slender effect. 
An untrimmed skirt is a rare sight. Even severely simple gowns and 
shirtwaist suits have some kind of trimming braid, applied motifs, 
buttons, or embroidery on the skirt. Tucks are very much in vogue. 
Wash gowns — so called, though many of them would hardly stand a 
tubbing — are tucked a great deal, not only in straight lines, up and 
down and across the material, but in elaborate designs in which lace 
motifs and medallions, embroidery and drawn work are combined. 
Tucks alternate with rows of Valenciennes lace are favorate decora- 
tions for thin materials. Sometimes puffs are substituted for the 
rows of tucks. If skirts appear over-trimmed ,what shall be said of 
jackets and blouses? A hunt through the shops for a simple, ready- 
to-wear cloth skirt and coat suit is rather discouraging. All the jackets 
are elaborate in design and are loaded with trimming. The sleeves 
are especially trying to those of us who value simplicity of line and 
unadorned surfaces. Worst of all, the return of the crinolined sleeve 
seems imminent. The stiffened sleeve of a dozen years ago had its 


canvas, or other lining, in the upper half, while the newest sleeve is 
at present, merely wired with crinoline boning in the lower part, where 
the fulness is greatest. However, it is said that stiff canvas shields are 
placed in the shoulders of some recent cloth gowns, the canvas running 
down over the arm. The idea is to set the sleeve well out from the 
armhole. A few gowns are made with old-fashioned leg-of-mutton 
sleeves, large at the top and tapering to the wrist. None of these, so 
far, have been crinolined. Other indications seem to point to the 
passing of the huge wrist puff, and one should be careful in planning 
handsome gowns to have the sleeves made after a moderate design. 
One of these indications is the appearance of tight, or snugly fitting 
ace undersleeve. These are convenient and becoming, unless the arms 
are too slender, and will surely be more comfortable for hot weather 
than the mvich decorated balloons or the double and triple plaitings 
and ruffles which have monopolized the mode. Not that ruffles show 
a tendency to depart altogether; they are too attractive to be given 
up so soon, and indeed they are the only appropriate undersleeves to 
wear with cloth gowns and jackets. A handsome and very up-to-date 
veiling gown is in a light tan color. It is made with a skirt shirred 
below the belt and has a shirred front panel, narrower at the top than 
at the bottom, but not sharply graduated. The panel has the appear- 
ance of an old fashioned shirred puff. Around the bottom of the skirt, 
which is rather long all around, are two rows of silk braid two inches 
wide, placed about an inch and a half apart. The blouse is shirred 
in the shoulders and falls over a high grade of tan-colored silk. The 
corsage opens in front over a puffed front, which matches the panel 
of the skirt. Starting from the collar and extending nearly half way 
down are two little revers that curl rather than fold back, of blue velvet, 
the only touch of color on the gown. From the shoulders are carried 
three rows of braid, each row ending in a pendant. The collar and a 
shallow yoke are of heavy tan-colored lace, and a ruffle of the same 
lace trims the puffed sleeve. 

A characterestic walking gown of blue soft taffeta is made with a 
box-plaited skirt, instep length. A deep hip yoke is carried almost to 
the knees in the front and back, but only in the form of a band, the 
whole of the top part being cut away. The waist is box-plaited, and 
• has a round yoke, finished with a wide circular band of the taffeta 
stitched on. The effect is something like a bertha. The two front 
plaits of the waist are carried over the band and yoke to the throat. 
The girdle, turnover collar, and band cuffs are of red and white Bul- 
garian embroidery, and the stock is of red silk, tied in a stiff little bow 
in front. Although separate waists and skirts are no longer fashion- 
able, one may wear a gown such as was seen on Fifth Avenue on one of 
the warmest days of the week. The skirt was of thin black cloth, 
plaited all around, the plaits stitched several inches below the belt. 
The two front pieces of the skirt formed an inverted plait, fastened 

TALKS AND TALES. f '2: 35 


together with three groups of stitching each finished withjlarge^buttons. 
On either side of the panel thus formed were lines of shirring, five little 
bunches four inches apart. The blouse was black and white^check 
silk, and. a pelerine of the cloth was worn over the shoulders. A charm- 
ing shirtwaist suit of nub mohair in bright blue has a skirt made with 
a plain front panel, a wide plait in the back and one wide plait on eithef 
side. The sides and back of the skirt are trimmed with two groups or 
stitched bands, three in a group, to simulate tucks. These' are very- 
narrow, not more than an inch in width ,and the top group is placed 
at the knee. The shirtwaist is a sort of modified Russian blouse, and 
has two slashes cut in each side of the front with straps of cloth but- 
toning from alternate sides. Underneath is seen plain blue silk. The 
waist fastens at the side and has a stitched band outlining the neck. 
There is a high girdle of blue silk fastened with a large silver buckle. 
Another charming walking gown, a little more ornate than a shirtwaist 
suit, is of soft green cloth. It has a plain front panel, and the three 
circular flounces that form the rest of the skirt are attached to the 
front with buttons and straps of brownish green leather. There is a 
wide crush belt of the same leather. The jacket blouses over this and 
has revers of green, brown, and gold embroidery, the same embroidery 
trimming the sleeves. The jacket opens in front over a vest of deep 
yellow lace. The over-trimmed waist is a feature of the styles just now. 
On nearly all evening waists one sees the double bertha effect — that is 
a bertha of the dress material surmounted with a lace collar. The high- 
girdle is much worn. Fortunately, most of the waists are trimmed 
only in front, the idea being to lose the lines of the figure altogether 
in the mass of trimming in front, while the back remains plain. Other- 
wise stovit women would be made into caricatures. A quaint fashion 
which is being attempted is that of little mantles of the gown material 
to wear with street and carriage One sees a few at every 
opening. Many taffeta gowns are made with mantles, this material 
seeming to be especially appropriate for them. They are trimmed 
with riichings and plaited frills, and some, invoile or similar materials, 
are quite elaborately decorated with lace and embroidery. Scarfs 
of one kind or another are in the greatest favor. Stoles of chiffon, 
made in elaborate shirrings and quillings, and trimmed with chiffon 
shower bouquets — there does not seem to be any better way to decsribe 
them — are seen everywhere. In all the Paris fashion plates the models 
are wearing lace and chiffon scarfs with evening and house gowns, while 
mantles and scarfs accompany most of the street gowns. All this 
with the long shoulders and full skirts of the 60s. No one would be 
surprised if shawls came back. The full skirts have necessitated a re- 
turn of short jackets and wraps, although the vogue of the long coat 
has not entirely disappeared. Most of the seasons coverts are short, 
however. The Modiste. 

His Uroiher^s Keeper. 

''Jim, old chap, I want you to do me a favor. I know you'd do 
anything for you 'ne'er-do-weel' young brother, but what I am asking 
you now is something altogether out of the ordinary. Since Fate — ah, 
cruel Fate! — ordains that my next three years must be spent out of 
the old country, I want you to help me over the most difficult part of 
leaving that aforesaid country. Will you, Jim?" And the speaker 
laid a caressing hand on his companion's knee. 

Stich a contrast between two brothers was surely never seen. 

One the speaker — was tall and broad-shouldered, with a laughing, 

handsome face surmounted by a refractory crop of sunny curls; the 
other equally tall, though the apparent breadth of his shoulders was mar- 
red by]their slight sloop ; and the dark, strong face bore the outward and 
visible signs of hard thinking and deep reserve, which the man's charac- 
ter in no way belied. 

Reserved even to the verge of the seclusion which marks a hermit's 
life, Jim Hartford, Professor of Classics, seemed to shrink with a natural 
aversion from the society of his fellow men and women — with one ex- 
ception, that is, and only one, the young lad now before him. But 
for him he would gladly have walked right up to the mouths of a battery 
of hostile guns, would have laid down his life with a smile, and deemed 
himself lucky to have had the opportunity. 

From the time when his dying mother had committed her youngest- 
born to his elder brother's charge he had exercised a constant care over 
him. And now, with a smile which lit his face and made it almost 
beautiful, the professor answered as his brother knew he could: — 

"A favor. Jack? Aye, a httndred, and that before they're asked. 
What is it this time — more scrapes? Only don't say you've been get- 
ting into debt again. Remember that last time, and don't, don't go 
to the usurers!" 

'"Once bitten — you know the rest! You don't catch me jumping 
willingly into the shark's mouth after once feeling his teeth, big brother 
mine! No, this is something far more serious; it is, in fact, a matter 
of the heart!" And here Jack paused to heave a mighty sigh. 
"In what way can I be of assistance to you?" 

"Well, it's this way, old man. When I start to-morrow there's 
a girl coming to see me off at the station, and I'm afraid she'l be aw- 
fully cut up. I? Oh, of course I shall be too; but then it's the man's 
part to bear up — the woman's to grieve. Here's the task I've set you, 
Jim. 1 want you to do all that you can — all that lies in your power — 



to lessen the pain of the parting for her. Tell her that three years will 
pass like a lightning flash; that hearts can beat as true across six thous- 
and miles of sea as ever they did in England; tell her — oh, you know 
what to tell her! Cheer her up, and don't make it any harder for me 
than you can help." 

"But how can I help you. Jack, when I'm going to Southampton 
with you.? I promised to see you aboard the steamer and watch you 
off on your voyage; so how can I comfort the girl? Imagine me com- 
forting any girl!" And Hartford senior's voice took on a note of de- 

"That's just where your goodness will come in. I want you to see 
me off at the station and then devote yourself to the girl. I'll manage 
all right at Southampton — never fear for me — but you'll do me this 
last favor, won't you?" 

"Did I ever refuse you anything j^ou asked me? But one thing I 
must know now — who is the girl?" 

"Oh, yes, you'd better know that, I suppose. It's little Molly 
Charteris; you know her, recluse though you are — the little one with 
lips like — er — ripe tomatoes, and eyes the color of — of the deep blue 
sea!" he concluded, enthusiastically. 

"Who?" asked the brother. "Little Miss Charteris, the vicar's 
daughter? Do you mean to tell me that you've fallen in love with her? 

Why, I " and there he stopped suddenly and gazed into the fire 

with thoughtful eyes. 

"Do you love her, Jack— really ?" he queried, after a few moments 
had passed in silence — and deep thought on the part of one at least. 

"Love her? Why, man, I love that girl more than any I've ever 
loved yet, and I've had a good deal of experience in that line! Love 
her? Yes, I should rather think so! Jim, if that girl were to ask me 
to eat stones for her special edification I'd do it, and smile as I ate them 
— until she was out of sight, at any rate! I'm sure it's final this time. 
I feel queer all over when I think of her!" 

Then for a while silence came over the pair, for the professor's mind 
was conjuring up a vision of the newly-done summer. 

A quaint old garden thronged with merry, laughing guests; white 
gossamer gowns flitting hither and thither through the dark back- 
ground of the midsummer foliage; a spirited tennis tournament; 
but apart from all there stood out one form — one face — a golden-haired 
child with eyes as blue as Heaven itself — a child, and yet a woman. 

Molly Charteris! The only woman who had ever brought a flutter 
to his steady, dispassionate pulse. She had listened to him with inter- 
est — so he thought; her answers, her queries, all showed that she en- 
tered into the spirit of his discourse, and for once he had thawed — let 
himself go, as his brother expressed it — until he had recollected that 
she was a merry girl and he a prosy old "fogey." Then his mantle of 
reserve descended again and he had led her back to the crowded lawns 

38 ^ TALKS AND TALES. ' ■ 

and nothing remained but the remembrance of the expression of pain in 
her eyes at being thus summarily dismissed. 

And Jack had won her love. Ah, well, it was only just; their 
temperaments were alike, both sunny and cheerful, and he — he was no 
mate for Molly. 

With a start he roused himself and looked fondly at Jack. 

"Be good to.her, lad, for she's a pearl of price. And I'll do all I 
can to lessen her pain when you are gone. Poor little woman ,it will 
be hard for her. Do you think she cares?" 

"I wish I knew for certain. Perhaps the actual fact of parting 
will bring her to know her own mind — but — you'll help her, Jim, for 
my sake?" 

"Yes, you can rely on me; and now, good-night. No, I'm not 
going to bed yet awhile; I have rather a knotty point to settle. Good- 

4: 4: 4: i): 4: * 

A little nervous, constrained conversation; a bustling, officious 
porter; a hiss of escaping steam; and the time for parting had come. 
Just a long, firm clasp of the hand; and then the professor discreetly 
turned his back and became intent on a lurid poster. 

The guard waved his flag, the engine shrieked and panted, a car- 
riage-door slammed, and Jack was off! The last view of his brother that 
the professor got- was a gesticulating figure leaning dangerously out 
of a window and waving a hat, oft-repeated "good-byes" growing fainter 
and fainter, and then the train vanished round a curve, and the two 
spectators were left alone. 

Few words were spoken as the pair climbed the hill towards the 
town. Once the girl shivered and drew her furs more closely around 
her, but the professor was unable to tell whether it was the cold or her 
deep feeling that prompted the movement. From the occasional 
glances which he cast at her half-averted face he gathered that she 
was bearing up remarkably well under the shock of parting, but he 
had heard that these restrained natures often needed but the slightest 
reference to the present trouble to form the prelude to a bitter burst 
of grief. 

Above all things he dreaded a scene, and the mental picture that 
he drew of Molly in tears led •him to avoid all mention of the parting. 

They reached the gates of the vicarage, and Molly turned to say 
"good-bye." As he held her little hand for a blissful moment the pro- 
fessor, recollecting how badly he was fulfilling his trust, ventured on a 
few words of consolation. 

"Cheer up. Miss Charteris. After all, three years is but a brief 
span as compared with the many years of a lifetime. And Jack, in 
spite of his gaiety, has a warm, true heart. I know, — who better? — 
tlie fund of love which he hides under a careless exterior." 

" " " TALKS AND TALES •^ 39 

"Ah, yes, I know, Mr. Hartford — I feel sure that he will be loyal." 
Molly was speaking now with a brave effort to maintain her calm, the 
elder brother thought. 

"And you — you will not grieve? I know he loves you with all 
the strength of his heart, for he has often told me that he had only one 
hero, and that one his brother." 

She was able, even in the midst of her own grief to fiud words to 
comfort him. "What a sweet, true spirit the^ child possesses," thought 
he; "she sinks herself and turns to condole with me! Oh, Molly' 
Molly, if only he had not loved you!" 

But aloud he said: "You will permit me to call and tell you of 
Jack's doings. Miss Charteris? We can sit and shed our tears together 
and call back to remembrance the days when he was with us," he con- 
tinued, -^ith a feeble attempt at mirth. 

"Oh, I wish you would. Come as often as you wish, for there will 
always be a warm welcome awaiting you." 

"A welcome for Jack's brother, but not for James Hartford!" 
ruminated that individual as he plodded homeward. But the tem- 
porary feeling of bitterness was swallowed up in joy at the good for- 
tune which had befallen Jack; and, besides, how could he feel bitteJ 
against Molly, of all the people in the world?" 

One month passed, then two, and still no' word came from the absen- 
tee. Occasionally the professor paid a brief visit to the vicarage in 
fulfilment of his promise, but whether it was that Molly was losing her 
affection for Jack, or that she did not wish to flaunt her sorrow in pub- 
lic, for some reason his name was scarcely ever mentioned between 
them And Hartford, try as he would to fight against his nature, found 
himself growing more deeply in love than ever. In vain he remon- 
strated with himself, in vain he vowed, by all the ties of his brotherly 
affection, that he would kill his love. It would brook no obstacle, but 
went on in a remorseless stream until each visit grew fraught with 
agony lest he should utter words that might turn the girl's friendly 
affection into loathing. 

Sometimes, when he saw her cast a wistful glance in his direction, 
Hartford would think she was longing to talk of the younger one, but 
at last all uncertainty and doubt were brought to a head by the arrival 
of the expected letter. 

With fingers that trembled with very eagerness Jim opened the 
letter and devoured its contents. After a racy description of the voy- 
age Jack went on: — 

"By the way, about Molly Charteris, I suppose she will have for- 
gotten me by now, and I rather hope she has. Now, don't accuse me 
of fickleness, old chap, but the fact of the matter is, I'm madly in love 
with the sweetest li tie girl you ever saw. I met her on the steamer, 
helped her through her sea-sickness, proposed, and was accepted — all 
within three weeks, which, you must admit, was quick work! Her 


father favors my suit, has offered me a partnership in his 'estancia,' 
and we are to be married in six months. I'm afraid I shall have to 
leave the task of breaking the news to Miss Molly to you, for, in spite 
of all my cheek, I haven't the pluck to do that. Will you, like the dear, 
good fellow that you are, tell her that I was never worthy of her, that 
my wish is for her future happiness, that a man's affections cannot be 
placed to order, and generally smooth matters over. ? She is so young 
that she will easily get oyer the shock, if any shock there be, and you 
will act diplomatically, I know"; and so on. 

The first feeling that invaded the professor's breast was one of con- 
sternation; the second, disgust; and the third — yes, .although he 
tried to laugh it aside with "a shamefaced air — was undoubtedly relief. 
Now the field was open; and when once the girl had recovered from 
her pain he could plead his own cause. And yet, what a card the young- 
ster had proved! In spite of his earnest protestations he had fallen in 
love with the first pretty face he met, and, shifting all responsibility 
on to the shoulders of his long-suffering brother, had left him to make 
his excuses. 

It was too bad; and the professor's bosom glowed with' righteous 
indignation. On the spur of the moment he sat down to indite a scath- 
ing letter of rebuke to the erring youth, but his brotherly love was too 
strong and he found himself wandering off into mild remonstrance. 

"I will go and break the news to Molly," he thought, "and then, 
fired by the sight of her anguish, I shall be able to forget everything, 
save that he is a dishonorable scoundrel. Then I will write a letter 
that will make him writhe"; and, acting on this new impulse, he took 
his hat and coat and started for the vicarage. 

His heart was very near his boots as, arrived at the house, he asked 
the dapper maid if Miss Charteris were at home. 

"In the drawing-room, sir," and he was in the slighted one's pres- 

She looked so winning, so free from care, as she rose to greet him' 
that he found himself inwardly reviling his brother for having given 
him the task of quenching the light of those glorious eyes. 

After the first few commonplaces had been spoken there ensued 
an awful pause. Neither one seemed disposed to speak first, but 
Hartford, finding the silence intolerable, summoned all his courage and 
drew the fateful letter from his pocket. 

"I regret to be the bearer of bad news, Miss Charteris, but that 

IS my unpleasant task to-day. Jack — my brother — is — is " but 

the girl glancing at the envelope he held, broke in: — 

" Not dead ! — oh, say he is not dead ! " 

"It wovild have been better had he died; but no, he is not dead — 
only dishonored. Forgive me if I seem harsh, but I cannot attempt 
to shield him in any way. Jack is to be married in six — no, five months," 
and there was a tone of tragic intensity in his voice. 


The girl's head was bowed, her face half hidden by her hand, and 
the man tried in vain to read her inscrutable expression. 

No sound, no motion came from her, and the professor thought 

that the depth of her grief had stricken her dumb. 

"Forgive me if I have been too abrupt," he said, "but the con- 
sciousness of his infamy compelled me to blurt out the truth. If I 
can in any way atone for the wrong my brother has done, you have 
but to command me. I will gladly serve you by all means in my power, 
but, oh. Miss Molly, do not grieve too much." 

The bowed head was lifted and Molly looked across with a some- 
what puzzled air. 

"Has the shock driven her mad?" the man asked himself, with a 
sudden, tightening fear at his heart. Her first words reassured him, 
however, for she asked: "But why should I grieve, Mr. Hartford? 
Jack has but followed the impulse of his nature, and I, for one, wish 
him joy. As for the dishonor you speak of, I fail to see where that 
comes in. He was not engaged to any other girl, was he — any girl 
here in England?" 

For a moment the professor sat there astounded. Words failed 
him; he was lost in admiration of a spirit that could bear a blow so 
calmly. Of course they were not engaged — he knew it; but this 
heroic calm was beyond him, and he rose as though to take his leave. 

'You need not hesitate to confide in me. Miss Molly. I know the 
shock must|bejgreat, for even to me, his brother, not his sweetheart, 
the news came as a thunderclap. I would gladly help you if you will 
but allow me to, but perhaps, at a later time, you will feel more able 
to make use of me. Now I will go." 

"Stay just a moment, Mr. Hartford," said Molly; "you seem to 
be laboring under a misapprehension. Either Jack has been deluding 
you or himself, for I never cared for him in the way you mean. I 
always loved him as a brother, but as a — a — oh, no, I could never^have 
loved him! " 

And she raised her eyes and gave James Hartford a look which set 
his heart beating madly. 

Down dropped his hat, his stick clattered to the floor, as he took 
a forward stride. 

"Miss Charter — Molly, do you mean to say that you never loved 
Jack? It must be so, for the light in your eyes is the light of a present 
love. Can it be that it is love for me? Molly, Molly, darling, have I 
read you aright? Tell me if there is hope— hope for me, for I have 
loved you with all the^strength of|my|heart ever since'first I met you." 
His arms were around the slender form by now, and he strove to raise 
the bended head. Suddenly she lifted it of her own free will, and 
James Hartford, whilom recluse, read his answer in her deep blue eyes. 


And as he bent his head to take the first kiss that had pressed his 
lips since the day his mother died, Molly, her very soul aglow with 
happiness, heard him murmur, "Thank Heaven!" 

Copy of a letter received two months later: — 

My Dear Old Spartan, — I pass aside your outbtirst of indignation 
as being unworthy of comment. To proceed to other matters, what 
did you think of my scheme? I knew perfectly well that, if you were 
left to your own initiative, you would never have found out that Molly 
cared for you, for j^our natural modesty was against such a result- 
Therefore I did the best I could to show you how things stood. I 
found out Molly's secret quite by chance, and was bound by a solemn 
oath not to divulge it. Forgive my necessary fibs, and look only on 
the result. If you should ask me how I managed to lure Molly down 
to the station the day I left, the answer is simple. I told her that you 
would feel the parting keenly, and asked her to condole with you. 
Poor, blind fools! best of friends! May you both be as happy as you 
deserve to be — as happy as I intend to be. — Always yours fraternally, 


Her Voice. 

Was there anything he could raise money on till the promised 
charity came? It must be getting late. The doctor — the parish people 
might have forgotten. The child might — no, not die, he could not bear 
to think of that. He looked at the sleeping boy. What a poor, pinched 
little face it was! 

He went nearer; he stared at him; was it fancy? Yes, yes, of 
course it was; this was not the awful pallor he had seen on the face 
of his consumptive wife jitst before she died. Fancy, that was all. 
How stupid of him; his eyes must be wrong. He was worn with watch- 
ing, weak for want of food. The boy was right enough — been study- 
ing too hard at school, that was all. Why, a little extra nourishment 
and he'd be as strong as a young lion. 

What was it the doctor said? Strong beef tea, chicken, a little 
good old port. Well, he'd buy them. What were parochial promises 
worth? The boy must have them at once, because if anything happened 
— ■ — He looked round the garret; was there anything left he could 
pawn? No, not the vases; he didn't want to hand them over to "uncle." 

Tom Stanton was an out-o'-work. For twenty years he had been 
employed as a packer by a City firm; bad times came and one morning 
Tom was discharged — with a good character. Foreign competition 
had pulled down the proud old firm. He tried to get work; he'd be 
anything — porter, messenger, gardener, anything. Alas! there were 
so many like him. 

He got an odd job now and then. He was luckier than some; 
one week he earned as much as eight shillings. He did his best for his 
stricken wife, often going hungry himself to buy her dainties. His 
savings were soon exhausted; then the home went bit by bit, and'they 
moved into this garret. And here, six months ago, she died, with her 
last breath whispering him to hope, to be patient. God's ways were 
mysterious; in His own good time help would come. 

Nothing else left; the vases must go for the child's sake. He had 

kept them because she prized them so; her old mistress had given them 

to her when she left to be married. He wrapped them lovingly in an 

apron she used to wear, and put them under his arm. Then, with a 

parting look at the child, he stole out, locking the door after him. She 

was looking down at him; she would understand and would forgive. 

"Make it 'alf a crown," whined the old woman in the next box; 

"don't be 'ard on your poor old mother what's so fond of you, my dear. 

Come now, make it 'alf a crown." 


"Don't waste my time, Mrs. Briggs. Eighteen-pence, I tell you.'! 

"To think such a 'andsome young man can be so 'ard-'earted' 
Make it two bob then; come now, for a poor, lonely old soul as feels 
the cold. Such a beautiful quilt too; cost six-and-eleven, sale price, 
true as I'm standin' 'ere, and good as new." 

" Eighteenpence, mother; understand? What 'ave you got now, 
Mr. Stanton?" 

"Pair of valuable china vases," said Tom Stanton, nervously; 
"let me have five shillings." 

"Pair of valuable china vases," repeated the pawnbroker's as- 
sistant; "pair of val one's cracked; don't you wish you may get it?" 

" 'Tisn't much of a crack," pleaded Tom. "Well, four shillings." 

"No good; can't take 'em' Thanks all the same Mr. Stanton." 

"Don't say that, sir; I want the money bad; let me have some- 
thing on them." 

"Tell you they're no good; people won't buy damaged things. 
Take 'em away; I'm busy." 

"Will you let me have a shilling or two on this coat I'm wearing? 
It isn't a bad one; it's warm. Do, for the love of Heaven; I've a ^ick 
child at home." 

"The coat's too old and the sick child tale's too old, Mr. Stanton. 

Tom Stanton looked at the vases; then, one after the other, he 
held them high in his hand and dashed them to the ground. 

The assistant came hurrying up from the other end of the shop. 
"Fetch a policeman!" he yelled. "Get out of the shop, you black- 
guard, or I'll make it hot for you. D'you think it's a dust-bin for you 
to shoot your rubbishery crockery in?" 

When Tom Stanton got into the street there burst from his lips 
a peal of dreadful laughter. Then he clenched his fist and shook it at 
the starry sky. "I've kept straight," he cried. "I've been tempted 
and I've kept straight. She's dead, but he sha'n't die. I don't go 
home this night without something to give my child." 

Mr. Sammy Moggs was a carpenter by trade and a burglar by pro- 
fession. He was ill in bed. His fine face was disfigured by three 
strips of black sticking-plaster, and his noble head was enveloped in a 
home-made bandage. Sad to relate, on the previous evening, in the 
course of his professional duties, he had met with a distressing accident. 

He groaned: the unsympathetic Mrs. Moggs bounced up from her 
chair and gave his pillow a vicious punch, which caused him to groan 
still louder. 

" 'Old yer tongue, Moggs," said the lady; "I ain't got no patience 
with yer. If yer'd been sober yer wouldn't 'ave tumbled horf the 

"Tell yer I didn't tumble horf no ladder. An old female party at a 


hattic winder in a night-cap, chucked a scuttle of coals on top o' my 
'ead. Which I'd like to take 'er for a nice quiet walk, I would. 'Ard 
coals they was, too." 

"Must 'ave been nuts," retorted his spouse, with a sarcastic snort; 
"if yer'd been sober yer could 'ave dodged 'em hcasy. Yer losin' yer 
nerve, Moggs; yer'd better go back to the bench. My dear father was a 
hornymint in the perfession for close on forty years and never 'ad a 
haccident like this 'ere." 

"Boil yer father; I'm sick of 'earing about 'im. Yer don't think 
I fell o' purpose, do yer? What's that?" 
" Knock." 

"Take care, Betsy; look out o' the winder; say I've gone out carol- 
singing; p'r'aps it's 'tecs." 

" 'Tecs be blowed, and carol-singing this time o' year! I never 
see stich a man." 

Mrs. Moggs opened the window softly and peered out. "It's 
on'y one man. Who are yer? Why, if it ain't that Tom Stanton." 

"Ur!" grunted the invalid; " 'e's come to 'is senses at last, 'as 'e? 
Bring 'im hup." 

The good woman obeyed. Tom Stanton, haggard and wild-eyed, 
was ushered in. 

"There 'e is, Mr. Stanton, sir, and a pretty figger 'e looks, don't 'e? 
And smells of imprecation 'nough to knock you down. Tumbled horf 
a ladder last night down at Chingford." 

"Tell yer I didn't tvimble horf no ladder, and it wasn't Chingford; 
it was Chigwell — see." 

"Well, it's all the same; you've throwed yerself out 'o work 

through not bein' sober. Now, my dear father " 

"Look 'ere, Betsy, you speak o' that respectable old corpse agin 
and I'll git out o' bed and pitch into yer. I ain't a-goin' to 'ave 'im 
hoved down my throat no more. Sit on the bed, Mr. Stanton, and 
let 'er 'ave the chair; you're lighter than 'er fer my feet." 

"I shouldn't have come," said Tom, with a desperate effort; "I 
couldn't bear it, but I want money. I'll work for it — work hard; 
can you give me something to do?" 

Mr. Moggs grunted several times before he answered. "Well, 
you ain't been a long time makin' up yer mind, 'ave yer? And yer 
didn't call me no names when I horfered to make yer my pardner, did 

"I'm willing now. My boy's ill, and I want to buy him things. 
Can you do anything for me?" 

"You should 'ave come before; I'm on the sick list, and you'll 
'ave to wait." 

"Wait! I've waited till I'm mad. I tell you he's ill; he's got to 
have wine and things to make him strong again; he must have them; 
he shall have them. Let me have some money and I'll do anything 


when you want me; I'll help you all I can; I — I'll do the same as you 
do. Let me have a shilling or two to-night." 

"My 'usband's hout o' work, the same as yoti are," interposed Mrs. 
Moggs, loftily, "so we ain't got no money to lend nor no things to give 
away. When he's able to go on wiv 'is perfession, no doubt 'e'l, take 
you out along wiv 'im, in spite o' what you said agin 'im and agin my 
dear father as is dead and gone." " 

"That's enough, Betsy, you dry up; I can do wivout you. Ham 
I tohunderstand, Mr. Stanton," asked the disabled burglar, patronizingly, 
"as 'ow you wish to henter the perfession? Very well, then; I sha'n't 
be the man to put hobsticles in your way. Mind, it's risky and a solemn 
perfession, and a 'ard 'un. When you've got the swag there's the fence 
to git hover." 

"I can climb fences," said Tom. 

Mr. and Mrs. Moggs burst out laughing. 

"That's a good 'un; slap my back, Betsy, I'm chokin' ! Oh, dear, 
what times we're 'avin'! Young man, a fence is a party as buys swag 
and don't pay a fair price. " 

"I can't wait," cried Tom, starting up; "I'll go to the doctor's; 
p'r'aps he'll be in; p'r'aps he'll give me something. " 

"I should go to 'im if I was you," sneered Mr. Moggs; "parish doc- 
tors is so wonnerful kind and gen'r'us. I was a-goin' to make you a 
horfer. You want things for your kid?" 

"Yes, port wine — chicken; he's weak and ill; let me have em', and 
rUJwork the flesh off my bones for you. " 

"You needn't do that, if so be you use the perfessional tools proper 
as I'm a-goin' to lend yer. I'm hill, too ; my happitite wants pamp'rin' ; 
I can do wiv a dozen or two hoysters or a lobster and a bottle o' rum fer 
my supper; so can my old woman. Betsy, the board." 

In front of the fireplace was a piece of ragged carpet. This Mrs. 
Moggs pulled aside, and, with the aid of a knife, lifted up a board be- 
neath; in the snug retreat exposed to view lay the burglar's outfit. 
That gentleman sat up in bed and pointed out the articles he wanted; 
then he addressed Tom. " I'm a-goin' to treat yer as if yer was my own 
flesh and blood. 'Ere's as pretty a little lot as henny yoting beginner 
could wish to work wiv; blow me if the sight on 'em don't make me 
itch to be out agin. Mind, I lend 'em to yer. A nice sack to put the 
stuff in ('e'll want two clorfs, Betsy, to wrop the bottles hup), lantern, 
nnatches, socks to go hover yer boots, skelingtons, a sooperior knife to 
work winder-catches wiv, and this 'ere beautifulest jemmy hever you 
see and takes in two — so; take it in yer 'and, Mr. Stanton, look at it, 
it'll do yer 'eart and eyes good. Puffick, ain't it? Why, Gentleman 
Gus' boys ain't got a better 'un. Now you take partic'lar care on it, 
it's been a good pal to me. Many a bright pund it's worked for me, and 
many more I 'ope. 'Ere's yer door; put it so — one — two — ^hopen; soft 
and heasy." 


"I never 'eard such a man," said Mrs. Moggs, indignantly; "it'll be 
breakfast 'e', 11 bring, not supper if yer don't send 'im horf soon. Where's 
the crib 'e's got to crack?" 

"Don't you hinterfere, Betsy; I can do wivout you. You're on'y 
a beginner, Mr. Stanton, and you won't 'ave me wiv you, so you've got 
to begin low down. You're goin' to be a airey-sneak, as we calls it. 
There's big 'ouses close 'andy at the back 'ere, wiv kitchings down steps; 
servants is very careless; doors is lef hopen, horfen unfastened, so's 
winders; money's lef lyin' about, and pervisions you can 'elp yerself 
to. As to s'lectin' which/ouse, you must use your own digestion." 


Dazed and shuddering, Tom Stanton groped his way down the 
stairs and out into the night. 

He was soon in the wealthy quarter of the town. Rain was falling 
heavily. He must make up his mind which house. Here was one — 
dark and silent it seemed. Yes, here. What was there to fear? ■ He 
strained his eyes to the right — to the left; no one coming. His hand 
was on the gate. Who was that speaking to him? He grasped the 
railings or he would have fallen. His hair bristled, his limbs shook in a 
palsey of unearthly fear. No one near, yet he heard that voice whisper- 
ing, still whispering lovingly, "God's ways are mysterous; in His own 
Good time help will come," 

He fell on his knees and buried his face in his hands . " Ellen, for- 
give me!" he sobbed. "I was going to sin to save our little one." 

***** ****** 

"You are in trouble," said a soft voice; "perhaps I can help you." 

He looked up — awed — ashamed; a lady was bending over him, a 
grey-haired lady, her face beautiful with kindness. He tried to rise, 
but, weak and overwrought as he was, he sank down again on the wet 

"You are ill," she said; "give me your hand; how cold you are. 
Come in and have some food and drink, they will revive you. This is 
my house. " 

He drew back horror-stricken. "Don't touch me," he cried, 
hoarsely; "don't come near me; I'm not fit. I was going to break in 
here; I was going to rob yoti. I'm hard pressed. I used to be honest. " 

"Poor man! But you have been spared the sin. Come with me; 
come and tell me what you need. " 

She helped him to rise and led him into the house. Was he in a 
dream? Was this an angel sent to succor him? A house? This was 
not a house; these were not rooms; people could not live in these vast, 
glittering halls. A panorama of gold and silver and exquisite colors 
seemed to be unrolled before his eyes. But — he could not understand; 
poor people were here in this palace; he saw men like himself, warming 
their hands at great fires; women, in tattered garments, feasting at 
tables laden with rich foods and flowers and wonderful things; and, 


best of all, there were children, many, many children, playing with toys, 
laughing, running, shouting; they were not afraid of this great place. 
And, as she passed along with him, the lady smiled on them all. 

"They are my guests," she said; "mine — and his." She pointed 
to a picture in the room they had entered. "That is my little son — 
my only child. Twelve years ago tonight his earth-life closed. Look 
through the glass door here; his cot, his clothes, his playthings. Tell 
me your needs, my friend; in memory of him I will aid you. " 

"Oh! daddy, daddy, I've had such a wonderful — such a wonderful 
wonderful dream! Oh, I never had a dream like it before. You were 
there and mother was there, and first it was dark and so nasty, but she 
led you away and it was all changed to a beautiful place, all light and 
large — oh, ever so large, larger than our school — but I — I'm tired now. " 

" Here's a lady corne to see you, and she's brought you things to 
make you well; and here's another lady and a gentleman, and — and — 
you must get well now. " 

" Yes; but I want to go to sleep and dream it all over again." 

The lady entered the garrett, together with a doctor and a nurse. 

"This gentleman's come to see you," said Tom; "he's going to 
give you some nice medicine." 

"Oh! daddy, medicine isn't nice — it's nasty stufif; but I'll take it 
if you want me to, and I'll try not to make an ugly face. " 

"That's a brave little man," said the doctor; "now let's have a 
look at you. " 

"Why, daddy, come, I want to whisper comething. That's the 
lady I saw in the beautiful place. Oh, isn't it so wonderful?" 

What is it that is so wonderful, my child? " asked the lady. 

"Why, ma'am, I saw you in a dream, and daddy and mother — but 
she's dead; and there was a little boy with her, but I wasn't a bit jeal- 
ous, for he was such a dear little boy, and he loved you and watched all 
you did. And he took my hand and he said, 'Isn't it good to see these 
poor people happy?' for there were lots of poor people there. And 
mother kissed me and she said, ' This will be your little friend, very, 
very soon.' I'll go to sleep now; if I dream any more I'll tell you when 
I wake up." 

He fell asleep, and they stood round, silently watching. Suddenly 
he smiled and opened his eyes. "Daddy — whisper." 

The doctor drew back; Tom knelt by the bed, putting his ear close 
to the little lips, and the child stroked his face. " Dear, dear daddy — 
mother's — message — God's — good — time — has — come." 

^ Tuff of ^moKe. 

After lighting his pipe, Johnson again tooli the picture from his po- 
cket and began studying it. It was not a particularly pretty face; but 
sweet, pure, kind; yet very strong; and indeed, almost grand Johnson 
sighed as he read the legend traced in a bold, firm hand across the back 
of the card: "Sister Constance; Ulleborg, 1877. " 

"Sister Constance" bemused. "Sister Constance." Tlien his thou- 
ghts taking a new turn, he muttered sadly "too late, too late!" Rousing 
himself from his reverie he said aloud ": It's a strange quest on which 
you've sent me, Olaf, but I'll find your sister if I can." 

It was but little Johnson had to guide him — A few meager words cau- 
ght from the lips of a dying man. He did not even know whether the ob- 
ject of his search was living. "My sister— Minneapolis tell her— " 

Nothing but this, and a picture thirty years old 

Nevertlieless he went to Minneapolis and hunted up the Norse Consul. 
"Constance Jorgens? Unknown. There was an Ole Jorgens, but he's 
dead Try St. Paul." So he went to St. Paul. "Constance Jorgens? 
Yes, lived here in '80 and '81; but has not appeared in the directory sin- 

Sadly Johnson returned home. Of course there was always the possi- 
bility that she had gone back to Norway but Norway was a large coun- 
try, and very far away; besides he was a busy man and had scant time 
for foreign travel: — especially in what might prove after all to be a "wild 
goose-chase." Nevertheless, he arranged his affirs for a long absence 
and went to Norway. 

Arriving at Ulleborg he had no difficulty in finding many who remem- 
bered Constance Jorgens. "Constance Jorgens? Oh yes, she was old 
Claus Jorgens' daughter. Oh yes, they remembered har very well. She 
had gone to America a great many years ago. She h id two brothers th- 
ere. Another brother had died a couple of years ago at Christiania. 
So far as thsy knew the family was extinct in Norway" 

Discouraged, Johnson went to Christiania expecting to siad from tlie- 
nce for home Having a few Jays before his boat left; he amused him- 
self by strolling about the queer, old fashioned city, and one morning fou- 
nd himself in the market. He stood for a long time idly looking at the 
busy scene before him, when suddenly a girl brushed past him — ^so close 
that he involuntarily moved aside. Looking at her closely as she passed 
him with a merry smile, he reeled, and groped blindly at a near by pill- 
ar for support. "Great Heavens! what a resemblance" he ejaculated; 
and stared after her rapidly retreating form. 

Starting up, he began to follow the girl by now almost lost to view in 

the dense crowd; when suddenly he came face to face with a lady wliom 

he had known long ago in New York. After the first surprised greetings 

were exchanged, he described the girl who had so moved him, and asked 

"Do you know who she is?" 


"Yes. Her mother is an old friend of mine. We saw a great deal of 
each other in St. Paul. Why?" 

"Because, if you possibly can, I want you to obtain an introduction for 
me. Believe me, I have very good reasons for asking." 

"Of course it's no affair of mine; but I think it is a very strange and un- 
heard of proceeding. However, if 3^ou will call on me this evening, we 
will see what can be done in the matter." And giving him her address 
she left him to himself. 

All day Johnson was in m perfect agony of suspense. Never had the 
weary hours dragged themselves to such an interminable length. But fin- 
ally the evening came, and he be-took himself to the address given him. 

She met him at the door dressed for the street. "We are going call- 
ing" she said. 

Traversing, it seemed lo him, nearly every street in the city, they fin- 
ally stopped at a large, old house fronting on the park. "This is the 
place" she said, and rang the bell. 

They were ushered into the drawingroom where they were met by the 
lady whoni Johnson had seen in the market. 

"Mr. Johnson M:ss Thorwald. Constance, this is an old friend of 
mine whom I found wandering disconsolately about the streets and brou- 
ght along with me. Is he welcome?" 

"Welcome for your sake" bowing to her friend. "and welcome for 
your own." And she gave him both her hands in the quaint old-world 
greeting. "Be seated. Mamma will be down presently. " And seating 
herself at the piano she allowed her hands to stray into one of those soft, 
sweet, minor melodies of which the Norse folk are so fond. 

Presently the curtains were parted and a woman tall, fair, and of 
queenly carriage came in and greeted Johnson's friend warmly. Then 
the girl, taking his hand and leading him to her mother, said: "Here 
is a stranger from far off America come to call on us. Mr. Johnson, my 
mother. ' ' 

"Who was Constance Jorgens," finished Johnson. "I have a message 
for you, and I have travelled half over the world to deliver it. It is from 

"Tell us of Olaf, please," she replied with surprise and anxiety. "We 
only know that he has gone from us. Did you know him? Were you 
with him when he — at the last?" 

"Yes. He was my dearest friend, I had known him for many years, 
and had always found him the same: Noble, generous, high-minded, and 
a true friend. And I am glad to remember that when the end came I was 
with him.His last words were of his sister Constance; and it is a source 
of great pleasure and satisfaction to me to deliver to you this message wh- 
ich he entrusted to my care." 

"I thank you most sincerely for what you have done for us; for the tro- 
uble and expense which you have undergone; but above all, I thank you 
from my heart for what you have done for Olaf. He was my favorite br- 

^ '"^ TALKS AND TALES. 51 

other, and any friend of his must be doubly welcome to me," and she cla- 
sped his hand warmly in both of hers. 

His duty performed, Johnson felt at liberty to allow his thoughts to 
dwell upon Miss Thorwald. How beautiful she was! Tall, fair, with 
golden hair, and eyes of heaven's own blue; truly she made an attractive 
picture as she sat pensively gazing into the fire; her hands folded in her 
lap. He was content just to sit watching her until reminded by his friend 
that it was time to take their departure. Then, lingering behind the oth- 
ers, he turned to Miss Thorwald and said 

"Miss Thorwald, I am going back to America to-morrow. May I take 
with me the assurance that you will think of me sometimes? I am a lo- 
nely man, and now that Olaf is gone my friends are very few." 

"My uncle's friend shall be my friend if you care to have it so" she 
replied softly. 

"And may I write to you — sometimes?" 

"Can I deny my friend so trif fling a request? Good Night." And the 
door, slipping from her hand, closed with a loud crash. 

Johnson started up his ears filled with the echo of that crash. But 
was it the door? Ah, no! It was merely his pipe which had fallen from 
his lips. He picked it up: gone out. He had been asleep and dream- 
ing over an old and faded picture. 

— "Wanderer." 
» Published by permission. 


If potatoes could see with their eyes, 
And if corn could hear with its ears, 

They'd grow in one season so wonderously wise 
They'd never be eaten, my dears! 

— Emma C. Down. 

Tt£}0 ^inner4:. 

There was a man, it was said one time, 

Who went astray in his youthful time. 
Can tlie brain keep calm and the heart keep quiet 

When the blood like a river is running riot? 
And boys will be boys the old folks say. 

And a man is better who's had his day. 
The man reformed: and ihe preacher told 

Of the prodigal son who came back to the fold; 
And Christian people threw open the door 

With a warmer welcome than ever before — 
Wealth and honor were his to command, 

And a spotless woman gave him her hand — 
The world strewed their pathway with flowers a-bloom 

Crying "God bless lady and God bless groom." 
There was a maiden who went astray 

In the early dawn of her youth's fair day- 
She had more passion and heart than head 

And she followed blindly where fond love led — 
And love is ever a dangerous guide 

To walk unchecked by a fair girl's side— 
The woman repented and turned from sin, 

But no doors opened to let her in. 
The preacher prayed that she might be forgiven, 

But told her to look for mercy — in Heaven. 
For this is the way of the earth, we know. 

That the woman is stoned while the man may go. 
A brave man wedded her after all, 

But the world said frowning, "We shall not call." 

—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

The most powerful light in the world is at Fire Island, New York har- 
bor. To ships, it will be visible one hundred miles out at sea. The li- 
ght itself can not be seen at that distance, owing to the curvature of the 
earth, but the flash on the clouds in the sky may be discerned. In other 
words, an intermittent glare will be observed, as if lightning were to sh- 
ow in the same quarter of the heavens at regular intervals of five seconds. 
The light, which is electric, will have a power of 50,000,000 candles, with 
out the lens. The lens, which was made in Paris, is of enormous size — a- 
bout ten feet in diameter. It will increase the power to 250,000,000 can- 
dles. It is a bivalve lens, the convex halves of which are separated by b 
distance sufficient to admit the body of a man, so that the carbons and o- 
ther apparatus between them may easily be reached. This double lens 
and the whole mechanical contrivance supporting it rests in a circular 
trough filled with mercury. In fact its entire weight rests upon the liq- 
uid quicksilver so that it may be revolved almost without friction 

A Me4:4:cxge of Millions 


The night was fine, even for San Francisco; the drinking saloon was 
bright, and everybody talked about the title to the great Washoe silver 
mine, then under trial in Virginia City, Nevada. 

The case was a romance of speculation. An Indian, hunting in the 
Sierras, had fallen over a precipice and, uprooting a young tree, discover- 
ed a lode of silver. At one of the mining bars he offered a piece of the 
ore for a glass of whiskey, and three luckless prospectors, loafing by, 
had made him drunk over a game of euchre, then cheated him out of the 
secret. Hard up and ignorant of its value, they sold their ill-gotten 
claim for 30,000 dollars to a capitalist, who floated a company and ex- 
ploited the vein. The silver proved rich in gold, the shares rose high, 
and the mine was appraised at from 50 dollars to 500,000,000 dollars. 

The vendors, now rueing of their bargain, got an astute lawyer to 
pick a flaw in the bill of sale, and contested the title of the company. 
Shareholders, losing faith in their property, took fright and sold out. 
The shares had already sunk low, and their future value turned on the 
decision of the Court. 

"If I had the first news of the verdict, I could make a big fortune," 
said a stout man with a vulgar face, mutton-chop whiskers, and a huge 
diamond in his breast. 

"I daresay," replied his companion, a good-looking fellow with a 
cigarette between his lips. "A stockbroker like you, Mr. Sharpey. 
But, if it's a fair question, how would you manage it?" 

"Ha!" ejaculated the older man, mith a sly smile, "I see you want 
a tip on your own account. Well, why not? A journalist like you, Mr. 
Ogilbee. A man who gets intelligence of all sorts before the market. 
However, I don't mind answering your question, particularly as I guess 
you know pretty well. If judgment is for the defendant the shares will 
jump to double or treble their present worth. All right. Keep what 
you have, buy more, and sell on the rise. On the other hand, if judg- 
ment is for the prosecutors, the shares will drop; but there will be a re- 
construction of the company and they will rise again later on. It ain't 
so dead sure as before, but still T reckon it's quite safe. All right. Sell 
out any shares you hold now. Buy largely on the "slump' and sell on 
the rise. Why, there's millions in it!" 

"Well, I'm afraid your only chance of getting the earliest news is 
to buy the first copy of our 'extra special' with a 'stop-press' telegram 
of the verdict." 

54 TALKS AND TALES. ' ' " " 

" That's no use, " replied Sharpey, sipping his mint julep. " It don't 
give time to buy or sell before others know. But why is it my only 

"Because the editor of the 'Mercury' has made arrangements to 
have the first message in San Francisco. The verdict is to be signalled 
from the court-house to the telegraph office in Virginia City. You can't 
beat that. " 

A young man with a black moustache, a dissipated look, and seedy 
clothes approached the stockbroker. 

" Plalloa, boss!" he cried familiarly, and held out his hand. " Glad 
to see you. " 

Mr. Sharpey nodded coldly, and ignored the proffered hand. The 
new-comer, a little hurt, drew it back, and rolled a quid of tobacco in 
his mouth. 

Mr. Ogilbee smiled and walked out. 

"Well, and how are you, Jordan?" commenced the broker, with a 
patronizing air. " Have a drink? " 

"O. K.," answered Mr. Jordan, sitting down on the vacant seat. 
' Waiter, a ' streak of lightning ' — smart ! 

"I know that chap Ogilbee," drawled out Jordan, with a sneer. 
"Leastways I once met him, btit he don't seem to recognize me now. 
Was a telegrapher like myself onct. Guess he thinks me beneath him 
since he's become a journalist. Or p'r'aps he's got wind of my disgrace. 
Everybody cuts me since I got the sack for giving you tips and scraps 
of news, boss. " 

" But what are you doin' just now?" 

"Doin'? Why, sneakin' round after a job, an' can't get it. I've 
lost my character already, you see. Wouldn't even give me a spell of 
extra work on the wires at Virginia City during this Washoe trial. Op- 
erators rather scarce, too, at present. I'm stony broke, that's what 
I am!" 

"Pity you got the sack. You might have been useful to me at 
present. " 

" Hoaw?" 

" By giving me news of the verdict in the Washoe trial before any- 
body else on 'Change gets it. Can't you get a chum in the telegraph 
service to let me know in time, or send me a wire?;' 

Jordan gulped down his liquor and reflected a minute. 

" I tell you they've all cut me. They're too honest, " said he at last 

" If you can see a way, I'll make your pile. " 

"You will? Why, that's friendly, now." 

"The luck's been against me, too, of late, and I want a shove up 
or there might be a smash." 

" How much will you give?" 

" Oh, ten thousand dollars. " . . . , \"' : ^l 


" 'Tain't enough, boss — not for the trouble and the risk — make it 
twenty thou." 

The figure did not startle the cunning broker. He was prepared 
for more. 

"Hem!" he murmured, affecting a hesitation. "Mind, I want the 
very first news of the verdict. I want it fifteen or twenty minutes be- 
fore anybody else in 'Frisco." 

"I understand. " 

"I must tell you that Ogilbee's paper, the 'Mercury,' has made 
special arrangements to get the first wire announcing the verdict." 

" Boss, I think I can do it. " 

"Then it's settled. Twenty thousand if you do it." 

"Shake!" said the cx-telegrapher, stretching his hand over the 
table. " If you don't get a wire at least a quarter of an hour before the 
* Mercury' you can tar and feather me. Whar d'ye want the wire sent — 
your office or the exchange?" 

"The Exchange. I'll be on the watch for it." 

"D'ye know what I'll do, boss?" whispered Jordan. 

"Don't want to know," hastily answered Sharpey, "so long's I 
get the news. " 

"Right you are. Then it's my secret." 

"A word will do. ' Prosecutor' or ' Defendant.' Why not ' Prose' 
or 'Deaf.' I'll know and others won't be sure. They'll think it is a 
code message. " 

"All right, boss; 'Prose' or 'Deaf.' Whcn's the trial expected to 
finish ? ' ' 

"Thursday or Friday next." 

"Good. And when will you pay?" 

"Same night, if you like. Come to my office — no, don't do that. 
Come here, and I'll hand over the money. " 

"O. K. Same night, if I can; or the following night, if I can't." 


Through one of the lonely paradises of the mountains ran the tele- 
graph and railroad from Virginia City to San Francisco. A train from 
the East was rattling along the line. When it was past a man stole out 
of the thicket of redwoods and looking furtively around him, went up to 
a telegraph pole. It was Jordan, disguised in the slouch hat, red shirt, 
and high boots of a gold prospector. A pair of climbing irons, or "creep- 
ers," used by linemen in repairing the telegraph were fastened on his 
feet, and after making sure that nobody was on the railroad he scaled 
the pole as far as the cross arms. On the lowest arm one of the wires 
was held, not by a single insulator like the rest, but a pair close together. 
The short length of wire between them had been cut through, and a 
piece of similar wire twisted about the ends of the gap so as to convey 
the electric current across it. Moreover, two fine wires insulated by 


silk of nearly the same tint as the redwood pole were connected to the 
cheeks of the gap and fastened by tacks with double points along the 
arm, then down the pole. 

Apparently satisfied with his examination of this device, Jordan 
glanced at his watch. 

" Ten o'clock," he muttered. " I guess the trial's begun." 

So saying he untwisted one end of the bridge wire from the gap and 
descended to the ground. 

At the foot of the pole the fine silk wires were joined to a couple of 
thicker wires coated with india rubber and hidden under the surface of 
the soil. Jordan, stooping now and then to cover a bare place with earth, 
followed these wires amongst the redwoods to a sort of cave dug out of 
the hillside, under a ledge of rock, probably by some wandering trapper 
or gold seeker. Pushing aside a blanket hung over the entrance he 
stepped in. A telegraph "sounder" was clicking in the darkness. He 
struck a match and lit a candle sticking in a block of wood set on a rude 
bench. Near it stood a pigmy or pocket sounder and various telegraph 
appliances, including a switch and a sending key. A tier of shelves 
across a corner of the hovel carried a row of dry batteries and some cans 
of preserved meat. 

"Ordinary business message," muttered the operator, with his ear 
on the sotinder, and his eye on the connections of his apparatus. The 
sounder, it appeared, was in circuit with the cut wire on the double in- 
sulators by the loop of small wires from the sides of the gap, so that